mm 

OfCAL 


61FT  OP 
ROBEPCT 
BEIPHER. 


POEMS 


POEMS 


BY 


JOHN   VANCE    CHENEY 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

RitocrsiDe  prcsjs,  Cambribge 
1905 


>>     OF  THE 


COPYRIGHT    1905   BY  JOHN  VANCE   CHENEY 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  September  igoj 


TO 
SARA  LOUISE   CHENEY 


NOTE 

The  present  volume  contains  all  the  author's  verse  now 
before  the  public  in  book  form.  Grateful  acknowledg 
ment  for  permission  to  reprint  is  made  to  the  editors  and 
proprietors  of  the  following  periodicals: 

AINSLIE'S  MAGAZINE 

THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY 

THE  CENTURY  MAGAZINE 

THE  COSMOPOLITAN 

COUNTRY  LIFE  IN  AMERICA 

THE  CRITIC  AND  LITERARY  WORLD 

THE  DELINEATOR 

HARPER'S  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE 

HARPER'S  BAZAR 

THE  INDEPENDENT 

THE  LADIES'  HOME  JOURNAL 

LIPPINCOTT'S  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE 

MCCLURE'S  MAGAZINE 

MUNSEY'S  MAGAZINE 

THE  NEW  AGE 

NEW  ENGLAND  MAGAZINE 

OUT  WEST 

THE  OUTLOOK 

THE  PACIFIC  MONTHLY 

ST.   NICHOLAS 

THE  SMART  SET 

SUNSET  MAGAZINE 

THE  YOUTH'S  COMPANION 


CONTENTS 

THE  HEART   OF  MAN 

CREDO  PAGE 

My  Faith  3 

The  Isles  of  Quiet  4 

By  and  By  5 

Thanks  6 

Place  Enough  for  Me  and  Peace  7 

This  My  Life  10 

The  Happiest  Heart  1 1 

What  Wouldst  Thou  More  .                          12 

The  Grace  of  the  Ground  (i,  n)                           13 

My  Choice  I  5 

My  Fame  and  Fortune  1 6 

LOVE 

The  Mystic  Kinship  1 9 

We  May  Love  20 

The  Hour  Supreme  21 

When  Love  Comes  2  3 

The  Cup  of  Bliss  24 

The  Way  to  Learn  25 

Thou  and  I  26 
ix 


CONTENTS 

I  Keep  Thy  Memory  2? 

Le  Sonnet  D'Arvers  28 

Love  and  Grief  2o 

The  Lost  Lamb  -o 

One  j, 

Nameless  ~  2 

How  Barest  Thou  Wait  2  2 

My  Shepherdess  ^ 

Somewhere  ,  r 

My  Fairest  Fair  -5 

A  Thought  27 

Dream  and  a  Day  38 

At  Parting  ~g 

Fate's  Tablet  4o 

Time  and  the  Hour  4! 

Bleeding  Heart  and  Broken  Wings  42 


LIFE 

Calm 


45 

The  Gracious  Failure  A  5 

The  Poets  of  Old  Israel  47 

"  Is  there  any  Word  from  the  Lord  "  48 

Great  is  To-Day  ^o 

The  Fallen  52 

The  Voice  of  the  Sequoia  56 

George  Washington  62 

Abraham  Lincoln  64 

The  Man  with  the  Hoe  66 


CONTENTS 

A  Trilogy  for  this  Time 

I.   Freedom  JO 

II.   The  Gold  of  Havilah  7  I 

III.   The  Hyssop  in  the  Wall  73 

On  a  Picture  of  Lincoln  76 

Emerson  77 

Socrates  78 

The  Immortality  of  Might  79 

The  Sphinx  80 

The  Hand  81 

THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOW 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Spade  8  5 

To  Dusty  Nothing  86 

Tears  8  7 

To  Hope  88 

I  Need  not  Hear  89 

The  Eagle  90 

To  the  Bitter  End  91 

The  Drawing  of  the  Lot  92 

The  Lost  Soul  93 

The  Body  and  the  Soul  94 

Poor  Little  Jane  96 

Little  Jump  for  Joy  97 

The  Past  98 

My  Children  99 

At  a  Grave  (i,  n)  100 
xi 


CONTENTS 

In  Memoriam  J.  V.  C. 

I.  The  Shadow  Came  ICI 

II.   At  a  Grave  l  ° l 

III.  By  the  Western  Sea  IO2 

IV.  Asleep  in  the  West  IO3 

The  White  Blossom  104 

Until  the  Evening  105 

No  Longer  with  the  Years  106 

THE   HEART   OF   NATURE 

SPRING  AND  SUMMER 
MORNING  AND  EVENING 

The  Informal  Courtier  109 

AttheHyla's  Call  m 

The  Nest  in  the  Vine  1 1  3 

The  Beeches  Brighten  I  H 

The  Old  Tree  1 1 5 

Fancy's  Song  II6 

The  Wise  Piper  "8 

The  Wood-Thrush  "9 

The  Weeds  '2O 

To  a  Humming-Bird  1 2 1 

Summer  Noon  I22 

August  I23 

The  Winds  I24 

The  Wind  i26 

To  the  Evening  Star  I28 
xii 


CONTENTS 

Memory  130 

Evening  Rain  131 

Evening  i  3  2 

Sunset  in  the  Redwoods  134 

Twilight  1 3  5 

AUTUMN  AND  WINTER 
ANIMALIA 

For  a  Day  139 

To  the  Fall  Wind  140 

The  Last  Dance  of  the  Leaves  141 

Snowflakes  142 

Prospero  of  the  North  1 44 

"Now  Winter  Nights  Enlarge  "  147 

Old  Friends  148 

The  Little  Warm  Owl  149 

The  Wolf  of  the  Evenings  150 

Coyote  1 5 1 

Poet  and  Crow  153 

The  Loon  1 5  7 

Toad  159 

To  Tree-Crickets  160 

QUATRAINS   AND    SONNETS 

My  Song  163 

Prose  for  Woes  163 

The  Poet  (i,  n,  m)  164 

Memory  (i,  n)  165 
xiii 


CONTENTS 

Lost  Joy  1 66 

The  Loitering  Joys  1 66 

Here  and  Hereafter  167 

But  Once  167 

To  the  Dregs  168 

Fate  1 68 

The  Wind  Voice  169 

Slain  169 

The  Victor  170 

Now  i 70 

The  Angel  Standing  By  171 

Wouldst  Hear  the  Singing  of  the  Spheres  171 

The  Old  172 

Thus  Run  the  Hours  172 

Our  Two  Gifts  173 

Tears  173 

Trust  (i,  n,  m)  174 

Wisdom  1 7  5 

Death  1 7  5 

The  First  Dawn  176 

The  Death  of  Adam  178 

The  Passing  of  the  Queen  1 80 

My  Books  181 

The  Voice  of  the  Mountain  182 

Grown  Old  With  Nature  183 

Two  Friends  184 

I  Would  n't  185 

The  Skilful  Listener  185 


CONTENTS 

Two  Voices  186 

My  Fancies  186 

Spring  (i,  ii )  187 

Early  Morning  188 

The  South  Wind  188 

The  Hermit-Thrush  189 

Twilight  189 

Haunting  My  Dreams  100 

The  Passing  of  Autumn  (i,  n,  in,  iv,  v)  191 

The  Trees  193 

The  Voice  of  the  Wind  1 93 

The  Voice  of  the  Grass  (i,  n)  194 

EARLIER    AND   LIGHTER    VERSES 

The  Way  of  It  197 

To  Youngsters  1 99 

"  Sweet-Thing  "  Jane  201 

What  I  Would  203 

Come  Along,  Deary  204 

My  Castle  in  the  Air  205 

Little  Love  Forgetteth  his  Umbrella  206 

Auto-Da-Fe  207 

Love  '  s  in  Town  2 1 2 

Song  of  the  Country  Lass  2 1 3 

Love's  World  215 

Life  and  I  216 

At  Candle-Lighting  2 1 7 
xv 


CONTENTS 

The  Open  Heart  2 1 8 

Summer  Rain  219 

Song  of  the  Summer  Hours  220 

The  Coming  of  the  Roses  221 

The  Music  of  Nature  222 

For  the  Making  of  Music  223 

Over  the  Hill  224 

At  the  Hearthside  226 

The  Kitchen  Clock  227 

The  Trapper's  Sweetheart  230 

A  Saint  of  Yore  232 

Gran'ther  234 

The  Old  Farm  Barn  236 

The  Good  Old  Time  237 

Collie  Kelso  239 

Brother  Bachelor  Batrachian  240 

Friend  Ophidian  244 

WHEN  LOPE    WAS   LORD  247 

INDEX  TO  THE  FIRST  LINES  291 


xvi 


THE   HEART   OF   MAN 
CREDO 


ITY 


MY  FAITH 

I  TRUST  in  what  the  love-mad  mavis  sings, 
In  what  the  whiteweed  says  whereso  it 

blows, 

And  the  red  sorrel  and  the  redder  rose ; 
I  trust  the  power  that  puts  the  bee  on  wings, 
And  in  the  socket  sets  the  rock,  and  rings 
The  hill  with  mist,  and  gilds  the  brook, 

and  sows 
The  dusk ;  is  on  the  wind  which  comes 

and  goes, 

The  voice  in  thunders  and  leaf-murmurings ; 

I  trust  the  might  that  makes  the  lichen  strong, 

That  leads  the  rabbit  from  her  burrow 

forth, 
That  in  the  shadow  hides,  in  sunlight 

shines ; 

I  trust  what  gives  the  one  lone  cricket  song, 
What    points  the  clamorous  wild-goose 

harrow  north, 

And  sifts  the  white  calm  on  the  winter 
pines. 


THE  ISLES  OF  QUIET 

THE  Isles  of  Quiet  lie  beyond  the  years. 
Hoar  prophets  say  it ;  yet,  for  all  the  tears, 
I  doubt  the  saying  of  the  seers. 

I  think  that  whoso  seeks  them  here  shall 

find; 

That  all  with  open,  patient  heart  and  mind 
Shall  drink  of  peace  from  sun  and  wind ; 

Shall  make  their  own  the  hymn  of  rest  begun 
When  shadows  say  the  summer  day  is  done, 
And  sky  and  field  are  growing  one. 

Idler  the  fancy,  closer  it  may  cling ; 
Yet  I  believe  the  wide  air's  murmuring, 
The  sweet  far  song  the  thrushes  sing. 


BY  AND  BY 

AT  last,  somewhere,  some  happy  day, 
The  bliss  will  round  us  lie ; 

For  all  a  joyous  way 
To  follow  by  and  by. 

'T  is  taught  by  every  star  that  wheels, 
By  every  flower  that  blows, 

By  all  a  young  heart  feels, 
By  all  an  old  heart  knows. 


THANKS 

THANKS  to  you,  sun  and  moon  and  star, 
And  you,  blue  level  with  no  cloud,  — 

Thanks  to  you,  splendors  from  afar, 
For  a  high  heart,  a  neck  unbowed. 

Thanks  to  you,  wind,  sent  to  and  fro, 
To  you,  light,  pouring  from  the  dawn ; 

Thanks  for  the  breath  and  glory-flow 
The  steadfast  soul  can  feed  upon. 

Thanks  to  you,  pain  and  want  and  care, 
And  you,  joys,  cunning  to  deceive, 

And  you,  balked  phantoms  of  despair ; 
I  battle  on,  and  I  believe. 

Thanks  to  you,  ministers  benign, 
In  whatsoever  guise  you  come; 

Under  this  fig-tree  and  this  vine, 
Here  I  am  master,  and  at  home. 


PLACE   ENOUGH   FOR   ME  AND 
PEACE 

UPON  the  thousands  cast 

Into  the  field  of  days,  with  troubled  flow 
My  thought  went  out ;  I  saw  them  ranked 
and  massed 

In  battle,  and  laid  low. 

To  live,  to  think  and  feel, 

It  was  to  fat  the  robber  of  the  nest; 
I  looked,  I  saw  the  serpent  at  the  heel, 

The  aspic  at  the  breast. 

I  saw  want's  tightening  twist, 

His  crushing  coil,  around  the  child  of  care; 
I  saw  the  day-god  wallow  through  the  mist 

To  gild  a  harlot's  hair. 

I  saw  high  worth  bowed  down, 

Vanity  glad  as  laughing  summer-green  ; 
I  saw  the  unkingliest  thing  clap  on  a  crown, 

Hoar  honor  wasting  mean. 
7 


PLACE   ENOUGH    FOR   ME 

But  on  itself  thought  turns. 

"  Thou  fool !  "  mine  said.    "  The  lovely 

violet  blows, 
There's  fire  yet  in  the  star,  the  foxglove 

burns, 
Runs  love-blood  in  the  rose. 

"  Curled  in  the  shadow-vase, 

Ferns  cluster  ;    morn  shakes  bright  the 

willow  leaves ; 
The  haughty  worlds  are  at  the  appointed 

place, 
The  swallows  at  the  eaves. 

"  The  grasshopper  has  song, 

The  noon  heat  at  the  cricket's  heart,  it 

stings ; 
The  bluebird  still  brings  heaven  with  him 

along, 
Of  it  he  shines  and  sings. 

"  Out  of  the  sun  and  cloud 

The  silences,  the  wonders  of  the  wind  ; 


8 


PLACE   ENOUGH    FOR   ME 

All  trustful  things  with  joyance  cry  aloud, 
They  seek  not,  and  they  find." 

"  Now  will  I  once  more  bend," 

I  said,  "  to  humble  service,  wiser  live ; 

With  hope  for  my  heartfellow,  fate  my  friend, 
Take  as  the  days  may  give. 

"  From  murmuring  will  I  cease, 
And  longer  after  folly  follow  not ; 

But,  lord  of  place  enough  for  me  and  peace, 
Will  stand  up  in  my  lot." 


THIS  MY  LIFE 

I  STRIVE  to  keep  me  in  the  sun ; 

I  pick  no  quarrel  with  the  years, 
Nor  with  the  Fates,  not  even  the  one 

That  holds  the  shears. 

I  take  occasion  by  the  hand ; 

I  'm  not  too  nice  'twixt  weed  and  flower ; 
I  do  not  stay  to  understand ; 

I  take  mine  hour. 

The  time  is  short  enough  at  best. 

I  push  right  onward  while  I  may ; 
I  open  to  the  winds  my  breast, 

And  walk  the  way. 

A  kind  heart  greets  me  here  and  there  ; 

I  hide  from  it  my  doubts  and  fears. 
I  trudge,  and  say  the  path  is  fair 

Along  the  years. 


10 


THE   HAPPIEST   HEART 

WHO  drives  the  horses  of  the  sun 

Shall  lord  it  but  a  day ; 
Better  the  lowly  deed  were  done, 

And  kept  the  humble  way. 

The  rust  will  find  the  sword  of  fame, 
The  dust  will  hide  the  crown  ; 

Ay,  none  shall  nail  so  high  his  name 
Time  will  not  tear  it  down. 

The  happiest  heart  that  ever  beat 

Was  in  some  quiet  breast 
That  found  the  common  daylight  sweet, 

And  left  to  Heaven  the  rest. 


ii 


WHAT   WOULDST  THOU  MORE 

THE  sun  and  all  the  stars  shine  on  thy  head, 

The  grass  and  blossoms  all  are  at  thy  feet ; 

Nature's  glad  pageantries  for  thee  are  spread, 

Her  winds  loosed  for  thee,  seminal  and 

sweet ; 

For  thee  young  morn  binds  his  bright  san 
dals  on ; 

Pale  evening  leads  thee  to  the  mother-fold ; 
The  patient  seasons  serve  thee  :   none  are 

gone 

Of  all  the  glories  thronging  from  of  old. 
Hoar  silence  sings  thee  her  primeval  lay ; 
Apt  dream  wraps  round  thee  her  enchant 
ing  light ; 

August  companions  walk  with  thee  by  day, 
They  share  thy  bed  in  darkness  of  the 

night : 
The  full  years  pour  upon  thee  of  their 

store, 

They  gather  for  thy  lap.  What  wouldst 
thou  more  ? 

12 


THE   GRACE   OF    THE  GROUND 

i 

TO-DAY  I  stretch  me  on  the  shadowed  grass, 
And  hear  my  heart  say  yet  again  to  me, 
"  Fly  with  the  birds,  and  let   the  spent 

world  be. 
Float,  float,"  it  says,  "  with  lightest  things 

that  pass, 
Leap  with  the  gauze-winged  vaulters  ;  glass 

to  glass, 
Drink  with  the  bees ;  go  with  the  gentle 

throng 

Deep  ever,  lost,  in  revel  sweet  and  long, 

The  nearest,  happiest  children  Nature  has." 

And  once  again  I  quit  the  wanton  round 

Of  mockery,  straight  betake  me  to  the 

ground. 

n 

Wherever  a  green  blade  looks  up, 
A  leaf  lisps  mystery, 


THE    GRACE   OF   THE  GROUND 

Whereso  a  blossom  holds  its  cup 
A  mist  rings  land  or  sea, 

Wherever  voice  doth  utter  sound 
Or  silence  make  her  round,  — 
There  worship  ;  it  is  holy  ground. 


MY   CHOICE 

I  WOULD  rather  be 
In  the  shade  of  a  tree, 

With  a  song  and  a  handful  of  daisies, 
Than  the  darling  of  victory 

'Mid  the  bray  of  the  rabble's  praises. 

I  would  rather  ride 
On  the  wings  inside, 

Whither  hoofs  and  horns  come  not  after, 
Then  take  to  me  Fame  for  a  bride, 

Rouged    Fame,  with   her   leer   and  her 
laughter. 


MY   FAME   AND    FORTUNE 

I  SING  home  songs,  tuning  the  strings 
To  lowly  music  of  the  ground  ; 

I  sing  the  humble,  happy  things 

The  seasons  bring  me,  on  their  round. 

I  fellow  with  the  day  and  night, 

To  share  their  fortune  and  their  fame  ; 

Among  the  names  the  wild  flowers  write 
Be  mine,  or  let  me  have  no  name. 


16 


LOVE 


THE  MYSTIC  KINSHIP 

NOT  a  thing  that  lives  and  moves 

But  the  mystic  kinship  proves  ; 

In  the  deep,  the  blue  above, 
All  the  mid-air  ways  along  — 
Hark  !  the  same  eternal  song 

Singing  on  the  lips  of  Love. 

Purl  of  stream  and  twirl  of  leaf — 
There  the  voice  of  joy  and  grief, 
Love's  divine,  undying  art. 

Waving  grass  and  swaying  tree, 
Swinging  of  the  star  and  sea  — 
'T  is  the  beating  of  thy  heart. 


WE  MAY  LOVE 

FROM  the  withered,  bitter  ground 
Every  sweet  has  taken  leave  ? 

Joy,  there 's  none  of  sight  or  sound, 
Naught  to  do  but  sit  and  grieve? 

Look  —  the  blue  !  bent  close  above, 

Close  above ; 

While  it  hovers  we  may  love 

We  may  love. 


20 


THE  HOUR  SUPREME 

ON  Nature's  round 

The  stillness  passes  into  sound  ; 

Which  is  most  musical, 

Song  or  the  interval 

When  the  silence  stirs,  to  be 

A  voice,  a  melody  ? 

On  Nature's  way 

From  out  the  dawning  comes  the  day  ; 

Which  would  the  nice  eye  choose, 

The  noon-gold  or  the  hues 

When  the  shadow  of  the  night 

Wakes,  smiling  into  light  ? 

Beauty  is  bride 

In  midsummer  or  at  springtide  ? 
In  June  her  solsticy 
Or  when  the  pale  mists  be, 
When  the  clod  feels  some  warm  power 
At  work,  and  lo,  a  flower  ! 
21 


THE   HOUR   SUPREME 

Ay,  when  is  bliss 
The  sweetest  that  it  ever  is  ? 
When  the  loved  one  is  at  rest 
Upon  the  lover's  breast, 
Or  when  he  first  may  dare 
To  dream  he  feels  her  there  ? 


22 


WHEN  LOVE  COMES 

HAST  seen  the  morn,  the  first  light  in  his 

eyes, 

Look  loveliness  along  the  sullen  skies  ? 
Hast  marked  spent  day,  slow  journeying, 

backward  turn, 

Though,  one  by  one,  the  stars  begin  to  burn  ? 
Hast  seen  the  dream-shapes,  pale  with  win 
ter  yet, 

Warming  wood-spaces  for  the  violet  ? 
Hast   heard  the   spring-song  on  the  wild 

March  air, 

And  all  the  world  's  a  lover  listening  there  ? 
Hast  heard  the  lay  the  bush-bird  long  did 

keep, 

Only,  at  last,  to  sing  it  in  his  sleep  ? 
Hast  heard  the  brook,  where  all  the  boughs 

are  old, 

Run  under  them,  lulling  the  leafy  fold  ? 
Not  yet  thou  knowest  beauty,  melody  ; 
They  wait  the  day  Love  comes  and  speaks 

to  thee. 


THE  CUP  OF  BLISS 

THE  reddest  rose,  the  bluest  violet, 

Take  them  and  bray  them  in  a  golden  jar, 
Drip  in  the  clearest  dewdrops  ;  nor  forget 
The  wandering  odor  where  old  shadows 

are, 

Nor  the  night-music  when  the  brook  is  loud, 
Nor  that  far  voice  when  all  the  silence 

grieves ; 

Stir  these  with  motion  of  the  one  lone  cloud, 

Of  winds  that  run  along  the  sunny  leaves. 

The  last,  add  glances  of  the  moonlit  stream, 

Pink  tremblings  from  the  edges  of  the 

dawn, 

A  dash  of  rapture  only  youth  dare  dream, 
And  the  dear  pang  it  leaves  when  it  is 

gone. 
Pour,  now,  and  drink.    Is  it  the  cup  of 

bliss  ? 

Thou  canst  not,  then,  remember  love's 
first  kiss. 

24 


THE  WAY  TO  LEARN 

THE  way  to  learn  how  well  I  love  you,  Dear? 
Ask  any  of  the  gossip  winds  that  blow. 
The  thousand  flowers  that  burn  it  where 

they  glow, 

The  happy  hours  that  hold  the  summer  here ; 

Question  the  sound,  the  silence,  far  and  near, 

The  brook,  which  sings  it  or  must  cease 

to  flow, — 

Ask  all  the  blissful  things  above,  below. 
Their  answer,  Sweet — of  that  I  have  no  fear; 
For  I  believe  all  life  below,  above, 

Is  leagued  with  love  as  light  is  with  the 

day, 
That  heaven  and  earth  aye  take   the 

lover's  part. 

But  should  all  other  voices  mock  my  love, 
You  will  not  heed  them ;  you  will  turn 

away, 

Content  to   have  the  answer  of  your 
heart. 

25 


THOU  AND  I 

LOVE,  I   would  have  thee  as  the  snow  is, 

white 

And  pure  on  hilltops  of  the  winter  day  ; 
Thou  shouldst  have  sovereign  rule,  the 

spirit  sway 

Of  beauty,  wide  and  shining  as  the  light. 
Thou  shouldst  be  as  the  evening  star  is, 

bright 
As  heaven  can  make  it ;  all  thy  summer 

way 

The  melodies  of  June  should  sing  and  play 
In  thee,  the  darling  of  the  day  and  night. 
But  I  would  have  thee  human  first  and  last, 
One  not  untouched  by  trouble,  sought  of 

sin, 
Thine    innocence    not    accident,    but 

choice. 

Fit  then  my  service  :  I  should  have  no  past, 
No  future ;  newly  would  my  life  begin, 
Obedient  to  the  music  of  thy  voice. 
26 


I  KEEP  THY  MEMORY 

I  KEEP  thy  memory  as  the  hilltops  hold 
The  sun  when  light  has  left  the  valley  way; 
With  dream  of  thee  I  lengthen  out  the 

day  : 

Nor  dark  does  shut  thee  out,  nor  slumber- 
fold. 

Day  sinking,  up  the  lovely  stars  are  rolled  ; 
The  hill  forgets  the  peerless  sun  in  play 
Of  feebler  fires  ;  but  thou  dost  with  me 

stay: 

My  night,  my  midnight,  wears  the  morn 
ing  gold. 

I  keep  thy  memory,  and  I  count  it  truth 
That  love,  once  come  to  men,  shall  never 

go; 
I  keep  thy  memory,  and  the  world  is 

fair, 

Yea,  beautiful  it  is  with  fadeless  youth. 
Loving  may  be  but  dreaming.    Even  so, 
The  heaven  in  my  heart,  I  keep  it  there. 
27 


LE  SONNET  D'ARVERS 

A  FLAME — an  instant,  secret,  mystic  thing  —     £l 

Burns  in  my  soul,  and  shall  forever  burn. 
The  harm  is  done  ;  in  vain  were  murmuring ; 
For  she  that  kindled  it  will  never  learn 
Whose   hand  it  was.    She  will  not  even 

turn 

To  me,  though  to  her  garment-hem  I  cling ; 
Nor  one  of  all  the  days  to  be  will  bring  f- 

Me  strength  to  speak  to  her.    I  can  but 

yearn. 

Albeit  God  made  her  tender  and  so  sweet, 
Love  sets  for  naught  the  music  of  her  feet. 
For  naught  love  follows  her  with  soft  com 
mand  ; 

She  hears  stern  duty  only,  night  and  day. 
Reading  these  very  verses,  she  will  say, 
"  Who  is  this  woman  ?  "  and  nowise  under 
stand. 


28 


LOVE   AND    GRIEF 

WOULDST    hear   strange    music   only    the 

dreamer  knows, 
Breath  sweeter  than  breathing  of  winds  that 

have  been  with  the  rose  ? 

Wouldst  see  strange  light  that  deep  in  the 

shadow  plays, 
Wouldst  pluck  the  secret  from  out  the  heart 

of  the  days  ? 

Then  follow  Love  and  that  other  who  feeds 

on  her  sweet ; 
Yea,  follow  Love  and  Grief,  and  fall  low 

at  their  feet. 


29 


THE   LOST   LAMB 

MY  heart,  you  happy  wandered 

Along  the  sunny  hill, 
All  day  a-singing,  singing, 

As  the  happy  shepherd  will. 

The  friendly  blue  of  heaven 
Looked  on  you  from  above; 

'T  was  joyance  all  for  the  shepherd 
And  the  little  lambs  of  love. 

Oh,  when  the  shadows  gathered, 
And  the  damp  upon  the  rock, 

Heart,  heart,  poor  silly  shepherd, 
Why  did  you  count  the  flock ! 


ONE 

ONE  whitest  lily,  reddest  rose, 
None  other  such  the  summer  knows ; 
Of  bird  or  brook  one  perfect  tune, 
And  sung  is  all  the  sweet  of  June. 

Once  come  and  gone,  the  one  dear  face, 
Forever  empty  is  its  place; 
But  one  far  voice  the  lover  hears, 
Calling  across  the  waste  of  years. 


NAMELESS 

SHALT  thou  be  beauty's  dream,  her  sweetest 

thought  ? 
No;  thought  scarce  is  ere  it  is  not. 

And  dare  I  make  thee  love's  low  melody  ? 
Nay ;  silence,  then  no  more  of  thee. 

Shalt  thou  be  morning,  wonder  of  the  light? 
No ;  day,  then  shadow  of  the  night. 

And  art  thou  summer's  red,  unrivalled  rose? 
Not  that ;  love  sighs,  "  How  soon  it  goes !  " 


HOW   BAREST   THOU   WAIT 

LIQUID  as  lies  the  wave  the  hilltop  lies. 
The  rocks  are  mobile  as  the  breeze  that 

strays 

Past  them  to  twirl  the  dust  on  summer 
ways; 

The  stars,  they  have  the  flight  of  butterflies, 
The  sun  is  as  the  ember  in  the  grate : 
Once  more  I  cry,  Love  me  !   How  darest 
thou  wait  ? 


33 


MY   SHEPHERDESS 

SHE  lives,  she  lives  up  in  the  hills, 
Where  mists  and  eagles  are ; 

Blithe  shepherdess  of  rocks  and  rills, 
'Twixt  mortal  and  a  star. 

Of  acorns  is  her  necklace  made, 
And  reddest  berries  found ; 

While  slender  vines,  in  glossy  braid, 
About  her  brow  are  bound. 

No  fairy  foots  it  half  so  light, 

A-dancing  on  the  green  ; 
Nor  curls  a  sunny  cloud  so  bright, 

The  pines  and  sky  between. 

My  shepherdess  of  rocks  and  rills  ! 

We  dwell  the  world  above ; 
She  lives  and  loves  up  in  the  hills, 

And  I  live  in  her  love. 


34 


SOMEWHERE 

THE  weasel  thieves  in  silver  suit, 

The  rabbit  runs  in  gray ; 
And  Pan  takes  up  his  frosty  flute 

To  pipe  the  cold  away. 

The  flocks  are  folded,  boughs  are  bare, 

The  salmon  take  the  sea ; 
And  O  my  fair,  would  I  somewhere 

Might  house  my  heart  with  thee ! 


35 


MY   FAIREST   FAIR 

THERE  is,  they  say,  no  sweetest  rose, 
There  is  no  fairest  face  ;  for  fancy  grows 

Its  own  deceiver. 

But,  right  or  wrong,  what  does  love  care  ? 
I  say,  "  World  over,  only  one  's  all  fair," 

And  so  believe  her. 


A  THOUGHT 

CAME  a  little  lonely  thought ; 

Straight  toward  my  heart  'twas  flying. 
Out  I  reached  —  't  would  not  be  caught ; 

I  could  hear  it  sighing. 

Whither  bound  I  cannot  say  — 

Than  thought  there  's  nothing  fleeter  — 
But  I  know,  lodge  where  it  may, 

Only  love  is  sweeter. 


37 


DREAM   AND   A   DAY 

How  many  happy  summers  yet, 
How  many  times  the  bird,  the  rose, 

Ere  't  is  to  sleep  and  to  forget  ? 
There  's  never  a  heart  that  knows. 

How  oft  shall  come  the  summer  weather 
Along  the  fields,  the  greenwood  way, 

And  lover  and  loved  one  be  together? 
There  's  never  a  heart  can  say. 

And  ever  a  heart  why  should  it  say  ? 

What  would  love  have  of  joy  or  sorrow  ? 
Love,  with  its  dream,  its  dream  and  a  day, 

Has  never  a  thought  for  the  morrow. 


AT   PARTING 

WITH  tears  and  kisses  let  me  go. 
Love  not  too  deep 
To  kiss  and  weep, 
That  love  have  many,  many ; 
But  one  love,  oh, 
It  doth  not  so  ! 

Pale  lips  it  has  and  tearless  eyes ; 
Broken,  motionless  it  lies, 
A  flower  amid  death's  mysteries, 
A  rose  that  dies. 
With  tears  and  kisses  let  me  go ; 

Such  love  have  many,  many. 
That  other  love  my  heart  would  know, 
Or  know  not  any. 


39 


FATE'S   TABLET 

You  must  have  known  her  had  you  seen  her 

face, 
That  moment  turned   away,   as  by  she 

passed ; 

It  must  have  told  you,  that  confiding  grace, 
Of  one  could  not  but  love  you  to  the  last. 

And  had  you  heard  her  voice  you  must  have 

known 

She  little  talked  and  softly  all  that  day ; 
Something,  perhaps,  was  on  the  June  winds 

blown 

To  her  could  not  but  love  you  aye  and 
aye. 

You  did  not  see  her, and  you  did  not  hear; 
She  saw  not,  heard  not  you  as  by  she 

passed ; 

And  it  once  more  was  written,  Tear  to  year, 

'Two  shall  goy  seeking,  seeking  to  the  last. 

40 


TIME   AND   THE   HOUR 

ONE  brave  look,  holding  hers  — 
There  where  the  warm  noontide 

Washed  all  the  long  walk  through  the  firs  — 
Fate  had  been  defied. 

One  low  word  slowly  said, 

With  Nature's  own  sure  art, 
His  had  not  been  a  bended  head, 

Hers  a  broken  heart. 

Stern,  unreturning  hours 

Came  with  that  summer  day. 
They  came  and  went :  love's  path  of  flowers 

Was  a  desert  way. 


BLEEDING   HEART   AND 
BROKEN   WINGS 

FEW  listened  to  the  lonely  singer's  lay. 
Our  life,  it  is  a  little  day ; 
He  sang,  and  vanished  in  the  valley  dim, 
Where,  all  in  vain,  praise  followed  him. 

Our  life,  it  is  a  bitter  day. 
One  gave  for  naught  a  loving  heart  away ; 
They  brought  white  lilies,  but  too  late  for  her 
To  see  how  like  herself  they  were. 

Heaven-taught,  the  maiden  loves,  the  poet 

sings. 

Dear  bleeding  heart,  poor  broken  wings ! 
So  has  it  ever  been  through  all  the  years,  — 
For  song  the  sorrow,  for  love  the  tears. 


LIFE 


CALM 

HAST  thou  been  down  into  the  deep  of 
thought 

Until  the  things  of  time  and  sense  are 
naught ; 

Hast  sunk  —  sunk  —  in  that  tideless  under- 
deep 

Fathoms  below  the  little  reach  of  sleep  ? 

Hast  visited  the  depth  where  he  must  go 
That  would  the  secrecies  of  being  know  ? 
Hast  been  a  guest  where,  lost  to  smiles 

and  tears, 
The  quiet  eye  looks  on  beyond  the  years  ? 

Hast  thou  been   down  into  the  deep  of 

thought 
Beloved  of  prophets,  where  their  work  is 

wrought  ? 
Then  doubt  is  whelmed  in  hope,  and  care 

in  calm, 

The  tumult  melts  in  music  of  a  psalm. 
45 


THE   GRACIOUS   FAILURE 

IN  the  poet's  world,  shamed  is  his  art 
Before  the  vibrant  silence  at  his  heart. 
And  well  it  is  that,  spurning  perfect  speech, 
Plays  the  wild  beauty  always  out  of  reach ; 

Once  by  some  god-poet  caught  and  bound 
The  wavering  light,  the   subtile   pulse   of 

sound, 
That  ere  it  come  is  gone,  —  what  singer, 

then, 
Would  ever  dare  to  lift  his  voice  again  ! 


THE  POETS  OF  OLD  ISRAEL 

OLD  Israel's  readers  of  the  stars, 
I  love  them  best.    Musing,  they  read, 
In  embers  of  the  heavenly  hearth, 
High  truths  were  never  learned  below. 
They  asked  not  of  the  barren  sands, 
They  questioned  not  that  stretch  of  death  ; 
But  upward  from  the  humble  tent 
They  took  the  stairway  of  the  hills ; 
Upward  they  climbed,  bold  in  their  trust, 
To  pluck  the  glory  of  the  stars. 
Faith  falters,  knowledge  does  not  know, 
Fast,  one  by  one,  the  phantoms  fade ; 
But  that  strange  light,  unwavering,  lone, 
Grasped  from  the  lowered  hand  of  God, 
Abides,  quenchless  forevermore. 


47 


« IS  THERE  ANY  WORD  FROM 
THE   LORD?" 

(JEREMIAH  xxxvn,  17) 

DAYLONG  a  craven  cry  goes  up : 

"  The  people  drink  a  bitter  cup, 

They  languish,  gathering  stones  for  bread, 

Brave  faith  is  fallen,  the  old  hope  dead." 

The  babblers  will  not  cease : 

"  The  people  have  no  peace." 

Trust  is  outworn,  naught  can  be  done, 

There  is  no  good  under  the  sun, 

The  blue  sky  fades,  the  waters  fail, 

The  strong  hand  shakes,  the  warriors  wail  ; 

Daylong  the  craven  cry, 

"  The  people  faint,  they  die." 

Turn  to  the  wall  our  faces,  we 
That  vanquish  air  and  earth  and  sea  ! 
The  sun  shines  yonder  ;  somewhere  glows 
The  old  first  hope,  bright  as  it  rose, 
48 


IS   THERE   ANY   WORD 

The  hope  whose  accent  high 
Shall  brand  this  whining  lie. 

If  doubts,  risen  idols  of  the  Nile, 

Again  the  hallowed  land  defile, 

Thunder  yet  clothes  green  Horeb's  crown; 

Let  Sinai  speak,  and  smite  them  down. 

Life  nests  yet  in  the  clod, 

Israel  has  still  his  God. 

You,  seers  and  prophets,  poets,  may 
See  yet  the  good  gold  in  the  day. 
Still  red  at  heart,  arise,  arise ! 
Sing  back  the  blue  into  the  skies, 
The  green  into  the  grass, 
And  bid  the  phantoms  pass. 

Once  more,  blest  messengers,  declare 
That  love  still  lives,  that  life  is  fair ; 
Say  knowledge  knows  not,  trust  is  all, 
And   crush   these   wise  which  writhe   and 

crawl ; 

Wake,  wake,  your  strains  of  fire  ! 
God 's  for  us  —  strike  the  lyre  ! 
49 


GREAT   IS   TO-DAY 

OUT  on  a  world  that  has  run  to  weed ! 

The  great  tall  corn  is  still  strong  in  his  seed  ; 

Plant  her  breast  with  laughter,  put  song  in 
your  toil. 

The  heart  is  still  young  in  the  old  mother- 
soil  : 

Never  bluer  heavens  nor  greener  sod 

Since  the  round  world  rolled  from  the  hand 
of  God. 

The  clouds  keep  their  promise  ;  believe,  and 

sow ! 
There  are  sweet  banks  yet  where  the  south 

winds  blow  ; 

The  sun  still  plunges  and  mounts  again, 
The  new  moons  fill  when  the  old  moons 

wane : 
There 's  sunshine  and  bird-song,  and   red 

and  white  clover, 

And  love  lives  yet,  skies  under  and  over. 
50 


GREAT   IS   TO-DAY 

Is  wisdom  dead  now  Solon  's  no  more  ? 
Are  the  children  done  playing  at  the  Muses' 

door? 
While  your  Plato,  your  Shakespeare,  goes 

down  to  the  tomb, 

His  brother  stirs  in  the  good  mother-womb  ; 
There  's  dreaming  of  daisies  and  running  of 

brooks, 
Yes,  life  enough  left  to  put  in  the  books. 

Out  on  a  world  that  has  run  to  weed  ! 

The  lusty  hours,  as  of  old  they  breed, 

And  the  man  child  thrives.  For  your  Jacob 
no  tears ; 

Rachel  is  there,  at  the  end  of  the  years. 

The  waving  of  wheat,  of  the  tall  strong  corn  ! 

His  heart-blood  is  water  who  wanders  for 
lorn. 


THE   FALLEN 

(!N  MEMORIAM,  MAY  30) 
I 

TOLL  the  slow  bell, 
Toll  the  low  bell, 

Toll,  toll, 

Make  dole 
For  them  that  wrought  so  well. 

Come,  come, 

With  muffled  drum 
And  wailing  lorn 
Of  dolorous  horn 
The  solemn  measure  slow 
Toll  and  beat  and  blow ; 
Put  out  all  glories  that  adorn 
The  sweet,  unheeding  morn. 

Come,  come; 

To  the  muffled  drum 
And  the  sad  horns 

Bring  flowers  for  them  that  took  the  thorns. 
5* 


THE  FALLEN 

Knell,  knell ; 
Let  the  slow  bell 

Be  struck  and  the  troubled  drum ; 

Come,  come, 

The  solemn  measure  slow 
Toll  and  beat  and  blow ; 

Rebuke  this  bright,  unpitying  light. 
The  solemn  measure  slow 
Toll  and  beat  and  blow 

For  them  our  beauty  and  our  might 
Gone  on  the  unreturning  way, 

For  them  that  took  the  night 
That  we  might  have  the  day. 

ii 

Hark  !  voices,  joyous  voices  break 

From  the  green  martyr-mounds :  "  Wake, 

wake ! 

The  Lord  our  God,  once  more  He  saith, 
<fhis  hand  made  all —  it  made  not  death. 
Let  the  blithe  bells  ring, 
The  May  air  sing ; 

Strike  the  quick  drum, 

Smite  sorrow  dumb ; 
53 


THE   FALLEN 

Blow  the  glad  horn, 
This  glad  May  morn ; 
Lift  the  valiant  measures  high 
Of  the  proud  earth  and  sky 

For  them  that  tent 

Beyond  the  firmament, 
And  on  the  field  of  light 
Still  gather  to  the  fight. 

"  Blow  the  glad  horn, 
This  glad  May  morn ; 

Stanch,  undaunted  measures  blow, 

Gathering  courage  as  they  go,  — 
Valiant  measures  high, 
Carolled  of  earth  and  sky ; 
Set  the  bright,  triumphal  stave 

For  them  that  fought  so  well, 

That  faltered  not  nor  fell ; 
For  them   and  all  whereso  yon  colors 

wave, 

Unto  the  four  winds  given 
And  the  proud  earth  and  heaven. 
There  believe  and  battle  they 
Whose  face  is  toward  the  day, 
54 


THE   FALLEN 

The  ever-living  light, 
Where  is  no  night, 

Where  is  no  death  nor  shadow  of  the 
grave." 


55 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE   SEQUOIA 

I  THOUGHT  it  spoke  to  me, 

The  lingering  spirit  of  the  giant  tree 

Fallen  on  the  western  shore,  — 
The  redwood  Saul  with  fourteen  centuries 
hoar: 

"  In  this  huge  husk  I  yet 
Abide  —  Who   may  the  old  home  soon 
forget  ?  — 

"  Abide  long  as  I  may, 
Dreaming  my  dreams  until  they  fade  away. 

"  The  morning  I  did  push 
My    twigs    the    little    height    of  yonder 
bush, 

"  Ruddy  Justinian  saw, 
Busied  betwixt  the  bishops  and  his  Law ; 

56 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEQUOIA 

"  Mahomet  knew  those  skies, 
Lithe-limbed,  the  fire  of  prophets  in  his 
eyes. 

"  I  can  recall  the  day 
The  Frank  set  forth  upon  his  warrior's 
way  — 

"  He  that  could  Caesar  be 
And  Alfred  too,  the  flower  of  empery  ;  — 

"  The  day  great  Saladin 
Threw  open  Judah's  gate,  and  entered  in, 

"  When  Christian  lance  and  sword 
Dealt  all  that  death,  nor  broke  the  alien 
horde. 

"  But  there  were  happier  things 
And  lovelier  mingled  in  my  murmurings  : 

"  The  woodland  wail  divine 
Of  Dante's  grief —  Dante,  the   human 
pine; 

57 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEQUOIA 

"  Spring's  earliest,  sweetest  note 

She  tossed  in  air  from  English  Chaucer's 
throat ; 

"  News  of  the  fateful  fleet 
Sailing  to  lead  all  peoples  to  my  feet ; 

"  Tales  of  the  Titan  lone, 
Writing  his  poems  in  the  Roman  stone ; 

"  Of  him,  the  wonder-child, 
On    whom    Beauty   and    all    the    Muses 
smiled, 

"  Whom  Nature  loved  so  well 
She  must  her  dearest  secret  to  him  tell, 

"  And  wish  she  had  yet  more 
To  give ;  (she  did  not  know  her  heart  be 
fore  ; 

"  Man  knew  not  his ;  for  when 
Her   Shakespeare    sang    the  world  grew 
young  again;) 
58 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEQUOIA 

"  Of  him  whose  symphony. 
Rhythmic  with  swingings  of  the  star  and 
sea, 

"  Embroiled  in  blank  mid-air 
Heaven's  host  and    Heirs,  nor  did  too 
greatly  dare ; 

"  Of  Pisa's  son  who  read 
The  Open  Book,  undaunted  whither  led, 

"  Charting  the  haughty  way 
Newton  would  follow  in  the  broader  day. 

"  Again  and  yet  again 
The    burdened   wind.    There    dawned   a 
morning  when 

"It  said  thy  sires  cried  out 
To  the  free  hills ;  I  heard  the  answering 
shout — 

"  Well  freed  thy  land ;  the  sea 
Rolls  all  her  waves  'twixt  it  and  tyranny  — 
59 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEQUOIA 

"  I  caught  a  kindred  cry 
From  France  the  beautiful ;  she  hung  the 
sky 

"  With  horrors  while  she  thrust 
Oppression  through  and  trod  him  in  the 
dust. 

"  Now  't  was,  the  Furies  ran 
And  loosed,  hawk-beaked  and  clawed,  the 
Corsican. 

"  Soon  drooped  that  phantom  wing ; 
But    hark !    proud    Life    hears  yet   her 
Goethe  sing, 

"  Hears  Wordsworth  ;  still  does  ease 
Her  heart  with  those  high,  wordless  melo 
dies 

"  Beyond  the  poet's  flight,  — 
Beethoven's      measures,     music's     utter 
might. 


60 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEQUOIA 

"  Again  and  yet  again 
The  burdened  wind.   One  of  the  new-time 


"  Goodly  and  tall  and  fair 
He  stood,  trusting  the  hand  that  planted 
there ; 

"  He  took  the  upper  wind 
I  knew  —  Lincoln,  the  cedar  of  his  kind. 

"  Those  sad  new  days  ye  know. 
They  fade  from  me ;  and  it  is  better  so." 

The  voice  fell  fainter  now, 
As    when    on  summer   eves  it   fails  the 
bough ; 

No  further  did  it  say, 

But,  sighing,  drifted  with  the  dreams  away. 


61 


GEORGE   WASHINGTON 

FIRST  of  the  deedful,  giant  few, 
So  high  in  Freedom's  grace  he  grew. 
To-day  his  voice  she  leans  to  hear 
Across  a  hundred  noisy  year ; 
The  virtues  meet  in  him  to  vie, 

As,  in  autumn  weather, 

Sunset  colors  gather 
Down  the  western  sky, 

Divulging,  ere  they  pass, 

The  dyes  of  which  the  daylight  was. 

The  lawless  gods  no  more  allot 

As  in  old  Homer's  tales ; 
According  as  ourselves  have  wrought, 

So  hang  the  honest  scales : 
Our  brown-haired,  blue-eyed  Saul 
Of  battle,  stalwart,  tall, 

Must  climb,  unstayed, 

The  heights  he  made. 
62 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

August,  unfellowed  to  the  last. 
From  height  to  height  he  passed ; 
The  day-star  of  his  race, 
He  rose,  he  shone  into  his  place. 

Stands  yet  the  Father  as  he  stood, 
Full  statured,  great,  sublimely  good. 

Before  God's  face  he  wrought ; 

It  cannot  come  to  naught. 
As  fate's  was  his  right  hand ; 
He  built,  and  it  shall  stand. 


ABRAHAM    LINCOLN 

His  people  called,  and  forth  he  came 
As  one  that  answers  to  his  name ; 
Nor  dreamed  how  high  his  charge, 
His  privilege  how  large,  — 

To  set  the  stones  back  in  the  wall 
Lest  the  divided  house  should  fall. 
The  shepherd  who  would  keep 
The  flocks,  would  fold  the  sheep, 

Humbly  he  came,  yet  with  the  mien 
Presaging  the  immortal  scene, — 
Some  battle  of  His  wars 
Who  sealeth  up  the  stars. 

No  flaunting  of  the  banners  bold 
Borne  by  the  haughty  sons  of  old ; 
Their  blare,  their  pageantries, 
Their  goal,  —  they  were  not  his. 
64 


ABRAHAM    LINCOLN 

We  called,  he  came ;  he  came  to  crook 
The  spear  into  the  pruning-hook, 
To  toil,  untimely  sleep, 
And  leave  a  world  to  weep. 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE    HOE 

(A  REPLY  TO  EDWIN  MARKHAM) 

* '  Let  us  a  little  permit  Nature  to  take  her  own  way  ;  she  better 
understands  her  own  affairs  than  we."  —  Montaigne. 

NATURE  reads  not  our  labels,  "  great "  and 

"  small " ; 
Accepts  she  one  and  all 

Who,   striving,  win  and    hold  the  vacant 

place : 
All  are  of  royal  race. 

Him,  there,  rough-cast,  with  rigid  arm  and 

limb, 
The  Mother  moulded  him, 

Of  his  rude  realm  ruler  and  demigod, 
Lord  of  the  rock  and  clod. 

With  Nature  is  no  "  better  "  and  no  "  worse," 
On  this  bared  head  no  curse. 
66 


THE    MAN  WITH  THE    HOE 

Humbled  it  is  and  bowed  ;  so  is  he  crowned 
Whose  kingdom  is  the  ground. 

Diverse  the  burdens  on  the  one  stern  road 
Where  bears  each  back  its  load ; 

Varied  the  toil,  but  neither  high  nor  low. 
With  pen  or  sword  or  hoe, 

He  that  has  put  out  strength,  lo,  he  is 

strong. 
Of  him  with  spade  or  song 

Nature  but  questions,  "  This  one,  shall  he 

stay  ? " 
She  answers  "  Yea  "  or  "  Nay," 

"  Well,  ill,  he  digs,  he  sings  "  ;  and  he  bides 

on, 
Or  shudders,  and  is  gone. 

Strength  shall  he  have,  the  toiler,  strength 

and  grace, 
So  fitted  to  his  place 

67 


THE    MAN  WITH  THE    HOE 

As  he  leaned  there,  an  oak  where  sea  winds 

blow, 
Our  brother  with  the  hoe. 

No  blot,  no  monster,  no  unsightly  thing, 
The  soil's  long-lineaged  king ; 

His  changeless  realm,  he  knows  it  and  com 
mands  ; 
Erect  enough  he  stands, 

Tall  as  his  toil.    Nor  does  he  bow  unblest ; 
Labor  he  has,  and  rest. 

Need  was,  need  is,  and  need  will  ever  be 
For  him  and  such  as  he. 

Cast  for  the   gap,  with  gnarled  arm  and 

limb, 
The  Mother  moulded  him; 

Long    wrought,    and    moulded    him    with 

mother's  care, 
Before  she  set  him  there. 
68 


THE   MAN  WITH  THE    HOE 

And  aye  she  gives  him,  mindful  of  her  own, 
Peace  of  the  plant,  the  stone ; 

Yea,  since  above  his  work  he  may  not  rise, 
She  makes  the  field  his  skies. 

See  !  she  that  bore  him,  and  metes  out  the 

lot, 
He  serves  her.   Vex  him  not 

To  scorn  the  rock  whence  he  was  hewn,  the 

pit 
And  what  was  digged  from  it ; 

Lest  he  no  more  in  native  virtue  stand, 
The  earth-sword  in  his  hand, 

But  follow  sorry  phantoms  to  and  fro, 
And  let  a  kingdom  go. 


69 


A   TRILOGY    FOR   THIS   TIME 

i 

FREEDOM 

FREEDOM  !  have  we  won  it  yet  ? 
To  win  it  did  our  fathers  set 
Their  strength,  and    build   the  home,  the 
State, 

That,  faithful,  we 
Should  have  the  mastery  over  fate, 

Forever  free. 

Yon  flag,  no  hand  dare  tear  it  down  ; 
This  proud,  this  high  is  our  renown : 
The  nations  look  on  us,  and  cry, — 

"  Stanchly  they  hold 
The  heritage  of  liberty, 

The  faith  of  old!" 

The  flattering  nations  look  from  far. 
Freemen  we  seem,  yet  slaves  we  are, 
70 


A  TRILOGY  FOR  THIS  TIME 

Ironed  with  hateful  gyves  of  greed  ; 

We  cramp  the  place 
Of  him  our  brother,  in  his  need, 

We  grind  his  face. 

On  freemen's  ground  the  gold  unearned 
Is  gold  unowned  ;  be  justice  spurned, 
Freedom  holds  off  from  low  and  high : 

On  freemen's  sod 
Whoso  oppresses  poverty 

Reproaches  God. 

Freedom  !  won  not  yet,  not  yet. 
Freemen  deal  truly,  nor  forget 
That,  now  and  in  all  days  to  be, 

Throughout  the  earth 
Only  one  power  can  make  men  free,  — 

Unselfish  worth. 


ii 

THE    GOLD    OF    HAVILAH 

IF  reign  you  will  in  Havilah, 

That  land  of  plenty  is  your  own ; 


A   TRILOGY   FOR   THIS   TIME 

But  while  you  gather  into  bags 

The  gold,  the  banded  onyx  stone, 
Masters,  beware 
The  high  words  there, 
The  black  space  writ  across  with  fire, — 
The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire. 

Yellow  the  gold  in  Havilah, 

The  gold  is  yellow  and  is  good  ; 

Lo,  you  may  build  of  it  your  house, 
May  give  of  it  for  roof  and  food  ; 

But  take  you  care 

He  has  his  share, 

Hungry  in  body  and  in  soul, 

Outworn  with  digging  for  you  in  the  hole. 

Mad,  phantom  kings !  strive  you  to  stand 
As  bywords  and  as  things  for  mirth  ? 

Your  kingdom  's  broken  and  plucked  up ; 
Long  since  He  portioned  out  the  earth, 

And  heaven  too. 

What  would  you  do  ? 

Not  all  your  gold  can  buy  that  trust,  — 

He  raiseth  up  the  poor  from  out  the  dust. 
72 


A   TRILOGY   FOR   THIS  TIME 

in 

THE    HYSSOP    IN    THE    WALL 

You  'D  be  a  taller  thing, 

You  shrubs  who  grow  not  to  the  goodly 

tree. 
Wherefore  ?    In  low  leaves,  as  in  high,  birds 

sing 
Their  summer  melody. 

Never  since  time  began 

A  stalk  yet  for  the  impartial  light  too 

low. 

June  greens  the  meanest  bush ;  the  hum 
blest  man, 
Her  warm  winds  on  him  blow. 

Shrubs  be,  and  there  be  trees, 

But  this  stands  fast :  shine  down  the  sun 

and  star 
On  these  and  those.    What  matter,  those  or 

these, 
Since  all  God's  plants  they  are  ? 


73 


A   TRILOGY   FOR   THIS   TIME 

You  that  would  cast  more  shade, 

Remember  who  it  was  that  wrought  you 
small ; 

He,  and  no  other,  He  the  cedar  made, 
The  hyssop  in  the  wall. 

Blame  not  him  at  your  side, 

Him  with  the  braver  root  and  prouder 

limb; 
Lift  your  bold  mouths  to  heaven,  and  call 

awide ; 
The  pattern  is  from  Him. 

Call,  but  first  know  that  ills 

Are    every    man's,    as    marrow    in    his 

bone; 
That  the  Hand  from  one  cup  the  measure 

spills, 
Be  it  of  bread  or  stone ; 

Know  that  all 's  poured  for  all ; 

Alike  for  sweetest  tree  "of  field  or  wood 
And  you,  the  bitter  hyssop  in  the  wall, — 

The  evil  and  the  good. 

74 


A   TRILOGY   FOR   THIS   TIME 

This  learned,  it  may  draw  nigher 

To  mortals  then,  the  trustful  prophet's 

morn 
When  shall  come  up  the  myrtle  from  the 

brier, 
The  fir-tree  for  the  thorn. 


75 


ON   A   PICTURE   OF    LINCOLN 

I  READ  once  more  this  care-worn,  patient 
face, 

And  learn  anew  that  sorrow  is  the  dower 
Of  him  that  sinks  himself  to  lift  his  race 

Into  the  seat  of  peace  and  power. 

How  beautiful  the  homely  features  grow, 
How  soft  the  light  from  out  the  mild,  sad 

eyes, 
The  gleam  from  deeps  of  grief  the  soul 

must  know, 
To  be  so  great,  —  so  kind,  so  wise  ! 


EMERSON 

PLATO  come  back  to  turn  a  Yankee  phrase, 
Franklin  recalled  to  lord  the  world  of 

soul  — 
So  came  he,  so  he  journeyed,  sane  and 

whole, 

The  Concord  pilgrim  on  the  upper  ways. 
Born  to  her  lap,  his  heart  was  ever  May's. 
In  vernal  terms  he  read  to  us  the  scroll 
Of  time  ;  he  chanted  from  the  magic  roll: 
We  knew  the  joy  and  beauty  of  the  days. 
He  read  to  us  until  his  sight  grew  dim  — 
Blinded  with  brightness  from  beyond  the 

sun  — 

Then  followed  he  the  glory  from  afar. 
But  not  until  a  race  had  learned  of  him 
The  murmurs  of  eternity  that  run 

Through  human  hearts,  the  blossom 
and  the  star. 


77 


SOCRATES 

BROAD,  squat,  flat-nosed,  thick-lipped  and 
onion-eyed, 

Such  the  teacher's  form,  his  satyr's  face, 
As  forth  he  stood,  and  swept  the  shams  aside 

In  Athens'  market-place. 

Great  souls  go  not  as  water  and  as  wind  ; 

Still  the  world  that  strangest  figure  sees, 
His, —  bodied  right  and  reason,  sire  of  mind, 

God's  motley,  Socrates. 


THE  IMMORTALITY  OF  MIGHT 

THE  fortress  proud,  the  haughty  wall 
With  frowning  gate  —  they  shake,  they  fall; 
Kings,  kingdoms  —  as  a  dream  they  pass, 
They  are  as  wind-waves  on  the  grass. 

Passes  the  last  remembrancer 

To  tell  us  that  the  mighty  were  ; 

In  death's  one  trench  shall  Shakespeare  lie, 

The  common  night  close  Caesar's  eye. 

Believe  it  not.    Once  might  has  birth, 
It  dwells  forever  in  the  earth. 
Does  glory  flame,  there  Shakespeare  is  ; 
Caesar  strives  yet  —  that  wreath  is  his. 


79 


THE  SPHINX 

IT  is  now  forty  years  ago 

I  stretched  to  her  mine  empty  hand, 

Pilgrim  in  that  waste  land  ; 
"Teach  me,"  I  prayed,  "make  me  to  know, 

Thou  silent  sitter  in  the  sand  !  " 
From  out  the  gray  waste,  there, 
Naught  but  the  old  unfathomed  stare. 

To-day  I  went,  as  long  ago  — 

My  hair  as  gray  as  was  the  sand  — 
A  gift-rose  in  my  hand. 

"  Speak  not,"  I  said ;  "  I  need  not  know. 
Does  this  aught  understand  ?  " 

Shallowed  the  fathomless  stare ; 

She  smiled,  the  red  thing  was  so  fair. 


80 


THE  HAND 

Lo,  it  locks 

The  hill  flower  in  the  rocks, 
Skeins  the  willow, 
Manes  the  billow, 
Sets  the  cedar  straight, 
Paints  the  she-bird's  mate, 
Hangs  the  apple  on  its  tree, 
Steers  the  cloud-ship  on  her  sea, 
Fires  the  dewdrop  and,  afar, 
The  haughty  rondure  of  the  star, 
Gives  the  loosed  wind  his  track, 
Brings  the  summer  back, 
Binds  the  morning's  crown, 
And  lets  the  darkness  down  : 
So  doth  the  Hand,  the  Power, 
That  giveth  thee  thine  hour. 


81 


THE   VALLEY   OF   SHADOW 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPADE 

ON  and  on,  in  sun  and  shade, 
Footing  over  flat  and  grade, 
King  and  beggar,  foe  and  friend, 
Come,  at  last,  to  the  journey's  end  ; 
Stop  man  and  maid 
At  the  Sign  of  the  Spade. 

Sage  or  zany,  slave  or  blade, 
Drab  or  lady,  the  role  is  played ; 
Over  grass  and  under  sun 
Past  one  hostel  trudges  none : 
Stop  man  and  maid 
At  the  Sign  of  the  Spade. 


TO  DUSTY  NOTHING 

WOULDST  thou  the  kingliest  head  of  old 

renown  ? 
The  desert  cubs  toy  with  his  tumbled  crown. 

Wouldst  thou  the  proudest  fane  of  Greece 

or  Rome? 
Sand    and  the  wild-beast  foot  are  on    its 

dome. 

The  sum  and  top  of  grandeur  and  of  grace, 
Mark  them, —  yon  blots  upon  the    great 
gray  face. 


86 


TEARS 

NOT  in  the  time  of  pleasure 

Hope  doth  set  her  bow ; 
But  in  the  sky  of  sorrow, 

Over  the  vale  of  woe. 

Through  gloom  and  shadow  look  we 

On  beyond  the  years : 
The  soul  would  have  no  rainbow 

Had  the  eyes  no  tears. 


TO   HOPE 

AH,  Hope,  no  more  ! 
From  your  sweet,  false  art 
Set  free  my  heart ; 

For  I  know  that  the  flake  will  follow 
On  the  airy  way  of  the  swallow, 
That  the  drift  will  lie  where  the  lily  blows, 
And  the  icicle  hang  from  the  stem  of  the 
rose : 

O  Hope  —  no  more  ! 

Nay,  Hope,  once  more ! 
With  your  olden  smile 
Once  more  beguile ; 

Though  I  know  that  the  flake  must  follow 
On  the  airy  way  of  the  swallow, 
That  the  drift  must  lie  where  the  lily  blows, 
And  the  icicle  hang  from  the  stem  of  the 
rose  : 

O  Hope  —  once  more  ! 


88 


I   NEED   NOT   HEAR 

I  NEED  not  hear  the  moan  they  make, 
The  winds  on  hill  and  shore ; 

I  need  not  hear  the  hearts  that  break 
For  joys  that  are  no  more. 

Call  not,  O  naked,  wailing  Fall, 

O  man's  unhappy  race  ! 
One  drifting  leaf,  it  tells  me  all ; 

'T  is  all  in  one  pale  face. 


THE   EAGLE 

I  SAW  a  wild  bird  on  a  rock, 

By  sun-fire  tried  and  tempest-shock ; 

Rider  and  tamer  of  the  wind, 

A  king  among  his  kingly  kind. 

Dim  as  the  dim  and  quiet  night, 
He  sat  there,  folded  in  his  might ; 
Still  as  the  rock,  so  still  and  gray, 
He  sat  the  solemn  hours  away. 

"  Hears  he,"  I  mused,  "  the  melody, 
The  dream-sound,  in  the  mountain  tree  ; 
And  does  remembered  glory  thrill 
That  proudest  spirit  of  the  hill  ?  " 

Round  his  shut  wings  and  humbled  head, 
A  voice  from  out  the  silence  said,  — 
The  eagle,  when  the  day  is  done, 
Forgets  he  faced  the  flaming  sun. 


90 


TO   THE   BITTER   END 

HE  shed  no  tears,  he  made  no  moan ; 
He  bore  his  burden;  mute,  endured  the 

years, 

Eating  his  bread  as  it  were  not  a  stone : 
He  murmured  not  nor  faltered,  shed  no 
tears. 

He  toiled  with  neither  hope  nor  plan  ; 
Ambition  masked  in  tame  humility 
That  yokes  for  equal  draught  the  ox  with 

man, 

None  heard   him   speak   again  of  what 
might  be. 

Not  once  from  him  a  craven  cry ; 

Patient  as  are  the  cattle  of  the  stall, 
Dumb  as  the  tumbled  clods  that  on  him  lie, 

So  patient,  dumb,  he  toiled,  so  did  he  fall. 


THE   DRAWING   OF   THE   LOT 

ONE  comes  with  kind,  capacious  hold, 
But  through  his  fingers  slips  the  gold; 
He  with  the  talons,  his  the  hands 
That  rake  up  riches  as  the  sands. 

One  fats  as  does  the  ox  unbroke ; 

Never  on  his  red  neck  the  yoke. 

The  pale,  stooped  thing,  with   heart  and 

brain, 
On  him  the  weight  of  toil  and  pain. 

One  longs,  —  she  with  the  full  warm  breast, 
But  no  babe's  head  does  on  it  rest ; 
On  some  starved  slant  a  fool  thought  fair 
Love's  boon  is  thrust,  and  suckled  there. 


92 


THE   LOST   SOUL 

A  LONE  soul  came  to  Heaven's  hard  gate, 
Low  at  the  warder's  feet  she  fell ; 

Sobbing,  she  said  she  had  not  knocked  so 

late 
But  for  the  many  roads  to  Hell. 

Stroking  her  bowed,  unmothered  head, 
Up  spoke  the  good  old  warder  gray  : 

"  This  child,  too  fair,  high  up  let  her  be  led, 
Past  them  that  never  lost  the  way." 


93 


THE   BODY  AND   THE   SOUL 


PURE  spirit,  pure  and  strangely  beautiful, 
What  body  fled'st  thou  ?   Where  in  all  this 

dull, 

Unlovely  world  was  there  such  loveliness 
That  thou  couldst  wear  it  for  thy  fleshly 

dress  ? 

Before  this  hour  thou  must  have  looked  on 

me; 
As  men  look  on  old  friends  I  look  on  thee. 

It  cannot  be.    Far-wandering  music  blown 
From  heaven  thy  voice  is.    In  what  garden 

grown 
Wert   thou,  too  lovely   blossom,  in  what 

vale  ? 
Who  wert  thou  ere  the  flushing  cheek  went 

pale  ? 

94 


THE    BODY  AND   THE   SOUL 

The  quick  winds  change ',  and  change  the  fields 

and  sky ; 
Look  on  me,  look  !  mayst  know  me  by  and  by. 

ii 

What  hate  dispatched  thee  out  of  Hell 
To  mock  me  ?  Shapeless,  smoky  mass, 
Thou  hideous  mist,  I  curse  thee  :  pass ! 

Time  was  when  I  was  welcome  to  thy  breast ; 
I  knew  it  as  the  wild  bird  knows  her  nest. 

Thou  liest !  never  on  that  fell 

The  eyes  that  met  not  instant  blight. 

Pass  !  pass  !  blot  on  God's  light ! 

Ayy  through  the  portal  whence  this  hour  I 

stole ; 
Open  thy  breast  to  me,  take  back  thy  souL 


95 


POOR   LITTLE   JANE 

WHAT  shall  be  done  with  little  Jane, 
Little  Jane  who  has  lost  her  lover  ? 

With  the  sun  and  rain  of  Lovers'  Lane 
Green  is  his  grassy  cover. 

She  has  no  joy  of  the  summer  sun. 

And  fearful  things  she  sees 
At  the  gate  in  the  lane  when  day  is  done, 

And  there  's  wail  in  the  faded  trees. 

She  cannot  laugh,  she  cannot  weep, 
And  alas  !  that  look  in  her  eye. 

Poor  little  Jane  !    'T  is  but  the  sheep, 
And  she  says  the  white  dead  go  by. 


LITTLE   JUMP   FOR   JOY 

I  HAD  a  playmate  when  a  boy, 
His  name  was  Little  Jump  for  Joy ; 
When  I  was  seven  he,  too,  was  seven, 
He  said  that  he  was  born  in  Heaven. 

His  yellow  hair  was  very  curly, 
We  were  together  late  and  early ; 
I  thought,  at  least  in  summer  weather, 
We  two  should  always  be  together. 

But  on  a  day  long,  long  ago, 
He  left  me  —  how,  I  hardly  know; 
Much  as  the  sunlight  leaves  the  day, 
He  shook  his  locks,  and  slipt  away. 


97 


THE   PAST 

HAST  heard  those  voices  low  that  fare, 
Unpiloted,  along  the  heights  of  air,  — 

Far  melodies,  too  faint  for  light, 
Alone  on  upper  pathways  of  the  night  ? 

The  past  calls  in  so  sweet  a  tone 
These  strive  and  die,  nor  make  it  once 
their  own. 


MY  CHILDREN 

DEAR  buds  of  flesh  and  blood, 
So  dear,  so  dear  to  me, 

I  dread  the  thoughts  that  dwell 
Upon  the  years  to  be. 

More  kind  the  early  blight 
Than  are  the  ripening  suns ; 

To  blossom  is  to  fall, 

My  sweet,  unfolding  ones. 

"Only  the  children's  hearts 

Go  down,  unhurt,  to  rest !  " 
I  hear  the  voice,  and  hold 
You  closer  to  my  breast. 


99 


AT   A   GRAVE 

i 

(!N  MEMORIAM  S.  P.  C.) 

As  out  of  the  dark  the  stars, 
Broke  forth  the  heavenly  bars 
Of  passion  strong, — 
The  wild  bird's  song, 
Borne,  wave  on  wave, 
From  a  branch  above  a  grave. 

Mute  heart,  you,  listening,  heard 
The  music  of  the  bird ; 
'T  was  in  your  cry,  — 
"  A  song  had  I, 
But  oh,  I  know 
Of  the  dead  asleep  below  !  " 

ii 

Oft  I  call,  he  nothing  hears ; 
Foolish  is  grief  as  death  is  wise. 
The   white   peace  chides   me  where   he 

lies, — 

"  None  would  know  again  the  years." 
100 


IN   MEMORIAM   J.  V.  C. 

i 

THE    SHADOW    CAME 

THE  Shadow  came ; 

All  the  gentle,  grieving  quiet 
Trembled  with  her  name. 

Dark  is  her  door ; 

Calls  and  calls  the  grieving  quiet, 
Answered  nevermore. 

ii 

AT  A  GRAVE 

Beckoned  the  Comer  Dim, 

And  she  must  follow  him 

To   that  far    field  whence    summer    never 

goes, 
But    ever    on    the   rose-tree    dreams    the 

rose. 

To  earth  she  was  so  dear, 
All  pure  things  linger  near, 
As  if  she  still  were  here  ; 
101 


IN    MEMORIAM   J.  V.  C. 

The  grasses,  glad 
With  motion  once  she  had, 
Stir  them  and  wave 
Upon  her  grave. 

in 

BY  THE  WESTERN   SEA 

The  circling  sea-birds  to  the  ledge  have  flown, 

The  sun  is  sinking  in  the  western  sea ; 
'T  is  not  the  loneliness  nor  yet  the  moan 

Makes  this  far  shore  so  full  of  pain  for  me. 
I  could  be  still  the  while  these  waves  beat  on, 
I  could  have  comfort  of  this  wild  unrest, 
But  for  a  radiant  spirit,  faded,  gone, 

Like  the  soft  color  lost,  now,  in  the  west. 
The  solitary  dusk,  the  troubled  wave, 

The  wind,  the  growing  sorrow  of  the  deep, 
These  would  not  hurt  my  heart  but  for  the 

grave 
Here,  where  they  left  her  when  she  fell 

asleep. 

I  stand  beside  it,  and  I  feel  her  hands 
Reach  to  me.    Oh,  these  lone,  unknow 
ing  sands  ! 

102 


IN   MEMORIAM   J.  V.  C. 

IV 
ASLEEP  IN  THE  WEST 

They  led  her  East,  they  led  her  West, 
She  followed  where  they  led ; 

The  way,  it  ran  toward  rest, 
The  one  untroubled  bed. 

To  her  pale  cheek  the  color  came, 
Whether  on  hill  or  wave, — 

The  flower  with  brighter  flame 
The  nearer  to  the  grave. 

They  led  her  East,  they  led  her  West, 
She  followed  meek  and  still ; 

The  way,  it  ran  toward  rest  — 
She  sleeps  upon  the  hill. 

Sometimes  I  think  that  Nature  knows, 

Her  native  western  skies, 
The  warm  wind  and  the  rose 

Remember  where  she  lies. 


103 


THE   WHITE   BLOSSOM 

IT  was  in  a  still  place  of  graves. 
I  asked  the  wind,  whose  faint  dream-waves 
Followed  the  mounds  along,  "  What  mean 
ing  has 

This  flowret  gladding  all  the  grass, 
This  loved-one  of  the  light, 
Rooted  in  death-dark  and  long  night  ?  " 

And  the  wind  said  :  "Two  things  men  lay 

In  death's  unending  night  away,  — 

Their  joys  and  sorrows.    Sorrows  I  let  sleep, 

But  the  dear  joys  no  grave  may  keep; 

I  lure  them  back.    They  know 

My  breath,  they  lean  the  way  I  blow." 


104 


UNTIL  THE  EVENING 

No  help  in  all  the  stranger-land, 
O  fainting  heart,  O  failing  hand  ? 

A  morning  and  a  noon, 

Evening  cometh  soon. 

The  way  is  endless,  friendless  ?  No  ; 
God  sitteth  high  to  see  below ; 

A  morning  and  a  noon, 

Evening  cometh  soon. 

Look  yonder  on  the  purpling  West  ; 
Erelong  the  glory  and  the  rest. 

A  morning  and  a  noon, 

Evening  cometh  soon. 


105 


NO  LONGER  WITH  THE  YEARS 

No  hue  of  early  Spring, 

When  first  the  fields  and  trees  are  fair, 
Is  beauteous  as  the  shimmering 

In  Autumn's  yellow  hair. 

No  bird  may  build  her  nest 

Where  Summer  puts  her  glory  on, 

But  silence  comes,  a  gentler  guest, 
When  leaves  and  song  are  gone. 

No  light  in  loved  one's  eye, 

No  eloquence  on  lover's  tongue, 

Dwells  tenderly  as  thoughts  that  lie 
Dim  memories  among. 

No  dream,  'neath  sun  or  star, 
No  gift  of  laughter  or  of  tears, 

Is  sweet  as  the  sleep  of  them  that  are 
No  longer  with  the  years. 


1 06 


THE  HEART  OF  NATURE 

SPRING  AND  SUMMER 
MORNING  AND  EVENING 


r 


THE  INFORMAL   COURTIER 

COURTIER,  in  unpretending  dress 
Of  all-excelling  idleness, 
No  liegeman  struts  that  can  outshine 
Me,  in  this  good  old  garb  of  mine. 

Young  whirlwinds  always  ask  me  where 
They  turn  round  dances  in  the  air; 
And  I  am  masker  on  the  green 
When  firefly  lanterns  light  the  scene. 

The  squirrel,  sharp  in  tooth  and  eye, 
Salutes  me  as  I  saunter  by ; 
Yes,  ere  the  robin  starts  her  nest 
She  asks  which  bough  I  think  the  best. 

Oft  am  I  hid  with  bats  at  noon, 
Abroad  with  owls  at  rise  of  moon  ; 
With  wary  hare  and  sleeky  mole 
I  am  the  same  congenial  soul. 
109 


THE    INFORMAL   COURTIER 

I  take  the  breezes  by  the  arm, 
And  tramp  at  will  my  neighbor's  farm ; 
Herself  I  serve,  without  a  care, 
Her  Highness  of  the  Open  Air. 


no 


AT  THE  HYLA'S  CALL 

THE  things  the  sun  and  the  south  wind  do 
When    the  green    o'  the  year    is  peeping 

through, 

And  Joy  is  abroad,  and  the  dancing  hours 
Know  only  the  clocks  of  the  leaves  and 

flowers  ! 
When  the  squirrel-cups  are  brimming  with 

rain, 
When  blackbirds  are  come  and  the  needly 

grain  ; 
When  the  ribbon-snake  slips  from  his  dismal 

house 
To  the  nest  of  the  bird  and  the  nest  of  the 

mouse  ; 
In  the  thick  of  the  meadow  and  greenwood 

smells, 

Of  the  minstrelsy  by  the  willowed  wells  ; 
By  the  brook,  and  the  bridge  of  lichened 


With  the  darting  trout  and  the  vaulting  frog  ; 
in 


AT   THE    HYLA'S   CALL 

By  the  upland  bunches  the  rabbit  knows 
Ere  the  great  sun  comes,  when  the  great  sun 

goes; 

Along  warm  walls  where  ivies  bind 
And    braid   the    sunshine  and   weave   the 

wind,  — 

It 's  to  rouse  and  go  forth  at  the  hyla's  call, 
It 's  to  learn  the  sweet  secrets,  one  and  all : 
It  's  to  follow  him  with  the  locks  love-curled, 
To  wander  with  Joy  to  the  end  of  the  world. 


112 


THE   NEST   IN   THE   VINE 

WEAVE,  bird  in  the  green,  green  leaves ! 

Wind  in  with  every  thread 
The  shine  of  the  earth  and  sky  ; 

Twine  heaven's  blue  and  the  rose's  red, 
And  the  wind-sweet  singing  by. 

Weave,  bird  in  the  green,  green  leaves ! 

The  lustre  from  east  to  west, 
The  melody  line  by  line, 

Braid  it,  shade  it,  into  the  nest, 
The  home  in  the  heart  of  the  vine. 

Weave,  bird  in  the  green,  green  leaves ! 

All  happy  color  and  sound, 
By  love's  own  cunning  curled, 

Wind  it,  bind  it,  round  and  round ; 
Build  in  the  bliss  of  the  world. 


THE   BEECHES   BRIGHTEN 

THE  beeches  brighten  for  young  May, 
And  young  grass  shines  along  her  way ; 
Joy  bares  to  her  his  sunny  head, 
Leaned  over  brook  and  blossom-bed ; 
The  smell  of  Spring  fills  all  the  air, 
And  wooing  birds  make  music  there. 
There  's  naught  of  sound  or  sight  to  grieve, 
From  quiring  morn  to  quiet  eve  ; 
Only  the  shadow  thought  will  cast, — 
This  loveliness,  it  cannot  last. 
The  merry  field,  the  ringing  bough, 
Will  silent  be  as  voiceful  now ; 
Chill,  warning  winds  will  hither  roam, 
The  Summer's  children  hasten  home ; 
That  blue  solicitude  of  sky 
Bent  over  beauty  doomed  to  die, 
Ere  long  will,  pitying,  witness  here, 
The  yielded  glory  of  the  year. 


114 


THE   OLD   TREE 

YON  shape,  so  pitiful,  once  stood, 
The  Saul  of  his  proud  brotherhood ; 
Tempest,  at  last,  and  length  of  days 
Have  mastered ;  lo,  the  king  decays. 

Time  was  when  gravely  to  his  shade, 
At  noon,  the  lordlier  cattle  strayed ; 
And  from  his  top,  at  morn,  rang  clear 
The  bravest  song  of  all  the  year. 

He  sighs,  is  silent,  sighs  again,  — 
"  One  fate  we  have,  O  sons  of  men  ! 
These  empty  hands  upheld  in  air, 
It  is  your  own  last  reach  of  prayer." 


FANCY'S   SONG 

HEAR  fancy's  song; 

The  warm  day  long, 

Like  her  melody 

No  other  sound  may  be ; 

Not  the  luscious  croon 

Of  sunny  noon, 

Not  the  lullaby 

When  the  day  winds  die, 

And  the  blossoms  rest 

On  the  meadow's  breast, 

And  the  stopt  clouds  lie 

White  asleep 

In  the  deep 
Of  the  silent  sky. 

Hear  fancy's  song; 

The  warm  night  long, 
So  sweet  her  melody, 
For  her  dear  sake 
The  roses  wake, 

116 


FANCY'S   SONG 

And  the  pale  waves  lie  and  glisten, 
And  the  quiet  sea-shells  listen, 
Nor  sing  any  more  of  the  sea. 


THE   WISE    PIPER 

WHEN  other  birds  sing  not, 
Rifting  the  dreary  rain, 

Then  cheerly,  sparrow,  you 
Pipe  your  timely  strain. 

A  hasty,  wayward  song, 
Right  faulty,  I  dare  say ; 

But  who  will  find  it  so 
On  a  rainy  day  ? 

The  critics  nod,  not  you, 
Minstrel  of  drizzly  skies  ; 

Sparrow,  you  know  your  hour. 
Would  we  were  half  as  wise ! 


118 


THE   WOOD-THRUSH 

WHEN  lilies  by  the  river  fill  with  sun, 
And  banks  with  clematis  are  overrun ; 
When  winds  are  weighed  with  fern-sweet 

from  the  hill, 
And  hawks  wheel  in  the  noontide  hot  and 

still ; 

When  thistle-tops  are  silvered,  every  one, 
And  fly-lamps  flicker  ere  the  day  is  done, — 
Nature  bethinks  her  how  to   crown  these 

things. 
At  twilight  she  decides :  the  wood-thrush 

sings. 


119 


THE   WEEDS 

MEN  scorn  them,  but  the  wiser  day 
Looks  never  from  the  weeds  away. 
They  honor  him  as  best  they  may, 
And  so  their  humble  summer  goes. 

Sometimes  I  think  the  soft  winds  stay 
With  them  the  longest,  in  their  play, 
And  all  the  sweet  things  to  them  say 
They  but  say  over  to  the  rose. 


120 


TO  A  HUMMING-BIRD 

VOYAGER  on  golden  air, 

Type  of  all  that 's  fleet  and  fair, 

Incarnate  gem, 

Live  diadem ! 
Stay,  forget  lost  Paradise, 
Star-bird  fallen  from  happy  skies.  - 

Vanished  !    Earth  is  not  his  home. 
Onward,  onward  must  he  roam, 

Swift  passion-thought, 

In  rapture  wrought ; 
Issue  of  the  soul's  desire, 
Plumed  with  beauty  and  with  fire. 


121 


J 

SUMMER  NOON 

THE  dust,  unlifted,  lies  as  first  it  lay 
When  on  his  dewy  path  came  up  the  day ; 

The  spider-web  stirs  not ;  on  seas  of  air, 
The  thistle-ship,  becalmed,  rocks  idly  there  ; 

The  fern-leaves  curl,  the  wild  rose  sweetness 

spends 
Rich  as  at  eve  the  honeysuckle  lends ; 

The  creeping  cattle  feed  far  up  the  hill, 
The  blithest  birds  have   hid,  the  wood  is 
still ; 

On  daisied  dials,  pointing  flower  to  flower, 
The  shadow-hands  have  reached  the  golden 
hour. 


122 


AUGUST 

MUTE  the  ferny  woodland  ways, 
Hushed  the  merry  meadow-lays  ; 
Stillness  all  and  heavy  haze 
Of  the  charmed  August  days. 
In  the  hollow,  on  the  steep, 
Dwells  a  silence  long  and  deep ; 
Not  the  smallest  whisper,  now, 
Of  the  secrets  of  the  bough  ; 
In  his  glory  hid,  alone, 
Sits  the  hill  god  on  his  throne. 


123 


THE  WINDS 

WE  move  across  the  morning  lake 

Soon  as  the  dawns  begin, 
The  evening  lamps  of  gold  we  break 

When  the  stars  are  looking  in. 

We  wake  with  morn,  and  forth  we  go, 

We  follow  after  day  ; 
Like  thoughts  we  wander  to  and  fro, 

Like  dreams  we  pass  away. 

We  help  the  brightness  where  it  weaves 
The  hill  his  glittering  crown  ; 

We  come  among  the  valley  leaves, 
They  flutter  up  and  down. 

We  rouse  at  noon  the  sleepy  reeds, 

And  they  make  melody  ; 
We  fret  the  meads,  and  set  the  weeds 

A-swinging  blissfully. 
124 


THE   WINDS 

We  linger  where  the  roses  are 

When  warmth  and  light  are  gone ; 

We  take  their  sweet,  and  bear  it  far 
To  her  whose  cheek  is  wan. 

We  bring  her  wilding  melody, 

Beyond  the  singer's  art ; 
Sweeter  than  in  the  summer  tree 

It  trembles  at  her  heart. 

The  living  meet  us,  whither  led, 
We  greet  them  as  we  blow ; 

We  bend  the  grasses  on  the  bed 
Of  them  that  never  know. 


125 


THE  WIND 

THE  yellow  fox 

Has  his  bed  in  the  rocks ; 

The  brown  bird,  in  the  tree 

Her  nest  has  she ; 

But  the  wind,  come  forth 

Of  south  and  north, 

Of  east  and  west, 

Where  shall  he  rest  ? 

The  snake,  the  eft, 
Slips  into  the  cleft ; 
The  marmot  sleeps  sound 
In  the  under-ground; 
But  the  wind  of  the  hill 
Is  wandering  still ; 
And  the  wind  of  the  sea, 
When  sleepeth  he  ? 

The  clouds  of  the  air, 
They  slumber  there ; 
126 


THE   WIND 

Flowers  droop  the  head, 
And  the  leaves  lie  dead ; 
But  the  wind,  the  wind, 
What  rest  shall  he  find  ? 
When  shall  he  roam 
The  wild  road  home  ? 


127 


TO   THE   EVENING   STAR 

A  SOUND  as  of  the  falling  leaves 
While  yet  the  summer  dies, 

When  the  tired  wind  no  longer  grieves, 
And  only  the  silence  sighs ; 

A  grace  as  of  the  mist  that  clings 

In  tops  of  faded  trees, 
Or  where  the  gray-beard  thistle  swings 

In  pastures  of  the  bees ; 

A  scent  as  of  the  wilding  rose 

Fond  Summer's  heart  must  keep, 

In  dreamland  of  the  under-snows 
Sweetening  all  her  sleep ; 

A  fair  face  out  of  memory 

And  love's  long  brooding  made, 

Too  fair  for  rude  reality, 
Too  real  for  a  shade  ;  — 
128 


TO   THE   EVENING   STAR 

Are  these  thy  gift,  lone  Winter-star, 
Hung  'twixt  the  night  and  day  ? 

They  come  with  thee,  and  from  afar ; 
Chance  up  thy  golden  way. 


129 


MEMORY 

SOFT  follower  of  the  early  star, 

Once  more  I  feel  you  drawing  near. 

Come  !  for  my  evening  is  not  come 
Till  you  are  here. 

You  make  it  —  as  yourself  is  made  — 
Of  loveliest,  sweet,  untroubled  things, 

Fled  with  love's  day.    I  feel  love's  night 
Fall  from  your  wings. 


130 


EVENING   RAIN 

TWILIGHT  down  the  west 
Wanders  once  again ; 

With  a  gentler  guest 
Singing  in  her  train. 

Hearkens  every  breast, 
Every  heart  and  brain  : 

Peace ,  oh,  peace  is  best ! 
Runs  the  sweet  refrain. 

So  the  world  is  blest, 
Joy  is  not  nor  pain ; 

Love  itself  learns  rest 
Of  the  summer  rain. 


EVENING 

i 

THE  birds  have  hid,  the  winds  are  low, 
The  brake  is  awake,  the  grass  aglow : 

The  bat  is  the  rover, 

No  bee  on  the  clover, 

The  day  is  over 
And  evening  come. 

The  heavy  beetle  spreads  her  wings, 
The  toad  has  the  road,  the  cricket  sings : 

The  bat  is  the  rover, 

No  bee  on  the  clover, 

The  day  is  over 
And  evening  come. 

ii 
Now  is  Light,  sweet  mother,  down  the 

west, 

With  little  Song  upon  her  breast ; 
She  took  him  up,  all  tired  with  play, 
And  fondly  bore  him  far  away. 
132 


EVENING 

While  he  sleeps,  one  wanders  in  his  stead, 
A  fainter  glory  round  her  head ; 
She  follows  happy  waters  after, 
Leaving  behind  low,  rippling  laughter. 


in 


The  bird  is  silent  overhead, 
The  beast  has  laid  him  down ; 

The  neighbored  marbles  watch  the  dead, 
The  steeple  guards  the  town. 

The  south  winds  feel  their  doubtful  course 
Toward  sweet  in  thickets  found  ; 

The  leaves  reveal  the  faltering  force 
'Twixt  silentness  and  sound. 


'33 


SUNSET   IN   THE   REDWOODS 

THE  sky  is  lilac,  the  sky  is  rose ; 
Fainter  and  fainter  the  redwood  glows ; 
The  winds  would  be  still ; 
The  dove  is  calling, 
The  dusk  is  falling, 
On  the  yellow  hill. 

Lullaby,  lullaby  clucks  the  quail ; 
Faster  and  faster  the  colors  fail ; 
The  winds  grow  still. 
The  dove,  is  he  calling  ? 
'T  is  the  soft  dusk  falling 
On  the  purple  hill 

Lost  is  the  lilac,  lost  the  rose, 
In  the  shadow  the  rabbit  knows ; 
The  winds  are  still ; 
The  dove  is  dreaming, 
The  love-star  gleaming 
Over  the  darkened  hill. 


TWILIGHT 

HID  ways  have  winds  that  lightly  shake 
The  silver  willows,  half-awake, 
Mysterious  paths  the  moonbeams  take 
Across  the  shadowed  mountain-lake ; 
The  soul  in  deeper  secret  goes 
Behind  the  lilac  and  the  rose 
In  skies  of  evening,  far  away, 
Beyond  the  flight  of  night  and  day. 


AUTUMN   AND   WINTER 
ANIMALIA 


FOR   A  DAY 

HEARKEN  Summer's  song 
All  her  glad  path  along  : 

Hand  and  heart  together •, 
Come  while  yet  you  may ; 

In  the  sunny  weather 
Walk  the  happy  way  ; 
Let  none  delay  >  let  none  delay  ; 
Love  is  only  for  a  day. 

Hearken  Autumn's  song 
All  her  sad  path  along : 

Tet  a  little  wander 
Down  the  happy  way ; 

In  the  shadow,  yondtr, 
Waits  the  spectre  gray ; 
None  says  him  nay,  none  says  him  nay  ; 
Life  is  only  for  a  day. 


TO   THE    FALL  WIND 

THAT  I  might  borrow  your  voice.  Fall  Wind, 
To  utter  the  sorrow  of  human  kind  ; 

To  speak  for  speechless  tears, 

For  the  hopes  and  fears 

Of  the  weariful  years  ! 

That  you  might  lend  me  your  voice,  Fall 

Wind, 
To  tell  of  the  sorrow  of  human  kind  ; 

Fall  Wind,  your  voice  to  grieve 

For  the  hopes  that  deceive 

And  the  hearts  that  believe ! 


140 


THE   LAST   DANCE  OF   THE 
LEAVES 

THERE  's  revel  in  the  withered  close ; 

The  wind  of  Autumn  wakes  and  blows, 
Now  it  laughs,  and  now  it  grieves  ; 
Weird  the  measure  that  it  weaves 
For  the  dances  of  the  yellow  leaves. 

The  sad  grass  pale  and  paler  grows, 
Gray  Death,  from  vale  to  hill  he  goes ; 
Still  the  wind,  it  half  deceives  : 
Weird  the  measure  that  it  weaves 
For  the  dances  of  the  dying  leaves. 


141 


SNOWFLAKES 

FALLING  all  the  night-time, 
Falling  all  the  day, 

Silent  into  silence, 
From  the  far-away  ; 

Stilly  host  unnumbered, 
All  the  night  and  day 

Falling,  falling,  falling 
From  the  far-away, — 

Never  came  like  glory 
To  the  fields  and  trees, 

Never  summer  blossoms 
Thick  and  white  as  these, 

Falling  all  the  night-time, 
Falling  all  the  day, 

Follow,  follow,  follow, 
Fold  it  soft  away ; 
142 


SNOWFLAKES 

Folding,  folding,  folding, 
Fold  the  world  away, 

Souls  of  flowers  drifting 
Down  the  winter  day. 


'43 


PROSPERO    OF   THE   NORTH 

YOUNG  day  has  flung  his  saffron  banner  out, 
And  the  first  beamy  spear-tips   prick    the 

world. 

Straightway  my  wee  ones  will  I  set  to  work. 
The  hemlocks  listen,  the  sullen  brook  runs 

dark, 
Grim  joy  glows  in  the  bones  of  the  hoar 

oak; 
How  strong  he  is,  and  shapely  !  —  Hither, 

chicks  ! 
First,  you  that  know  the  chambers  of  the 

winds, 

See  that  they  all  are  barred ;  let  not  a  breath 
Come  forth  of  them.    This  done,  lay  hold, 

draw  up 
The  sagging  cloud  that  hangs  behind  yon 

mount, 
And  stretch  his  leaden  length  from  east  to 

west  — 

The  mild,  the  social,  maples  lean  this  way, 
144 


PROSPERO    OF   THE    NORTH 

Hearing  my  words,  and  the  clean  beeches 

clap 
Their  scattered  leaves ;  attentive  turns  the 

birch, 
High-bred  and  delicate,  and  right  happy 

nod 

The  water-loving  alders. —  Hear  me,  chicks ! 
Soon  as  the  first  flake  flutters  in  the  calm, 
Caught  like  the  thistledown  in  spider's  web, 
Get  you  abroad,  and,  as  the  white  flowers 

come, 

Consign  them  to  the  use  of  beauty  ;  guide 
And  stay  them  through  the  grave  and  de 
cent  day. 
Hark  !    we  must  have  unguessed  devices 

wrought ; 

Far  up  and  down  the  unbroken  loveliness 
Must  run  so  wondrous  waves  and  dimply 

curves 
Heaven  shall  reshape  her  clouds,  and  still 

despair 
To  match  your  magic.    Mischiefs,  mark  me 

well! 

Hood  the  prim  steeple  so  the  silly  bell 
H5 


PROSPERO   OF   THE   NORTH 

Shall  wag  without  a  sound;   pad  soft  the 

rock, 

Stuff  every  hollow,  cushion  every  knoll, 
Ay,  drape  all  nakedness  to  the  utmost  stretch 
Of  antic  fancy, — bush  and  shrub  and  bough 
And  stump  and  stub  and  pole ;  on  fence  and 

wall 

Bring  to  the  task  most  exquisite  caprice ; 
So  fair  confusion  let  wild  beauty  work 
No  man  will  know  his  own.  Away  !  Away  ! 


146 


"NOW  WINTER   NIGHTS 
ENLARGE " 

THE  moon  is  up,  the  stars  are  out, 
The  wind  is  in  the  naked  tree ; 

And  up  and  down  and  all  about 
Pipes  the  winter  minstrelsy. 

Weird  shapes  whisk  here  and  there, 
Betwixt  the  boles  and  bushes  brown ; 

They  skim  along  the  ledges  bare, 
They  dance  the  jaggy  gulches  down. 

The  moon  is  up,  the  stars  are  out, 
Pipes  on  the  winter  minstrelsy ; 

They  wave  at  us,  the  ghostly  rout, 
Beck  my  merry  mates  and  me. 

Aha,  and  had  they  heart's  desire ; 

The  phantom  rabble  —  if  they  knew 
The  fling  and  crackle  of  the  fire, 

The  sibilation  of  the  brew  ! 

H7 


OLD   FRIENDS 

WHEN  window-panes  are  smeared, 
And  the  hearth  is  spurting  blue, 

When  the  trees  are  black  and  weird, 

And  the  hill  owl  calls  " Who? "  "Who?" 

It's  to  good  fellows  would  get  up 

For  an  old-time  round  of  song  and  the  cup. 
Blow,  blow,  wind,  blow 
Across  the  snow ; 

Rattle  casement,  curtain  wave ! 

A  friend  is  no  friend  an  he  stays  in  his  grave. 

When  iron  is  the  rut, 

And  the  wind  wolves  sniff  and  growl, 
Tug  the  spigot  from  the  butt, 
And  let  the  lean  dogs  howl. 
Fill  bellied  pitchers  to  the  snout 
For  friends  to  empty,  turn  about ; 
Set  here  and  there 
A  comrade's  chair ; 
Wet  your  throat,  and  set  the  stave ! 
A  friend  is  no  friend  an  he  stays  in  his  grave. 
148 


THE  LITTLE  WARM  OWL 

DARKNESS,  grow  and  blacker  fold, 
Rattle,  hail,  and  blast  be  bold. 
Old  trees,  blow  together 
In,  the  cold,  roaring  weather; 
Louder  you  howl 
The  jollier  he, 

In  his  nest  in  the  breast  of  the  hollow  tree, 
The  warm  little  owl,  the  little  warm  owl. 

Play  up,  wild  pipes  i'  the  forest  bare, 
Gallop,  goblins,  down  the  air. 
Ride,  hug  to  the  back 
Of  the  scudding  rack  ; 
Fiercer  it  scowl 
The  jollier  he, 

In  his  nest  in  the  breast  of  the  hollow  tree, 
The  warm  little  owl,-  the  little  warm  owl. 


149 


THE  WOLF  OF  THE   EVENINGS 

HARK,  hark ! 

The  thin  wolves  bark ; 

They  whimp  and  whine 
For  the  mild  moonshine  ; 
They  snarl  at  the  hill-star  caught  in  the 

cloud, 
They  snap  at  the  flapping  wings  of  the  dark. 

Howl,  howl ! 
The  great  gray  owl, 
His  eyeballs  blaze 
Down  the  windy  ways ; 
With   the   sweep    of  the  rack  on  your 

leader  crowd, 
Rally,  wolves,  by  the  eyes  of  the  owl ! 


150 


COYOTE 

A  DIM  lithe  shape  moves  over  the  mesa, 

Roves  with  the  night  wind  up  and  down  ; 
The  light-foot  ghost,  the  wild  dog  of  the 

shadow, 

Howls  on  the  level  beyond  the  town. 
Cry,  cry,  Coyote ! 

No  fellow  has  he,  with  leg  or  wing, 

No   mate    has    that    spectre,    in    fur    or 

feather ; 

In  the  sage  bush  is  whelped  a  fuzzy  thing, 
And  mischief  itself  helps   lick   him   to 
gether. 

Up,  cub  Coyote ! 

The  winds  come  blowing  over  and  over, 

The  great  white  moon  is  looking  down  ; 
In  the  throat  of  the  dog  is  devil's  laughter. 
Is  he  baying  the  moon  or  baying  the  town  ? 
Howl,  howl,  Coyote ! 
151 


COYOTE 

The  shadow-dog  on  the  windy  mesa, 

He  sits,  and  he  laughs  in  his  devil's  way. 
Look  to  the  roost  and  lock  up  the  lambkin ; 
A  deal  may  happen  'twixt  now  and  the 
day. 

Ha,  ha,  Coyote ! 


152 


POET  AND   CROW 

POET 

FOR  once,  old  ebon  buccaneer, 

A  bit  of  panegyric  hear. 

A  few  yet  walk  the  earth 

Who  know  your  place  and  worth. 

We  dare  avow  it  was  your  croak 

That  first  the  mother  silence  broke, 

And  beardless  Time  stared  round, 

Astonished  at  the  sound. 

An  elemental,  cosmic  hymn, 

Close  as  the  bark  is  to  the  limb, 

None  of  the  wild  might  trimmed  away, 

Native  as  sunlight  to  the  day, 

Your  song,  in  valley  and  on  hill, 

Holds  fast  the  hale,  unchanging  art 

Of  Nature,  her  unbroken  will, 

The  secret  of  her  sturdy  heart. 

That  gride  —  indigenous,  grim  — 

That  rasp  on  horror's  rim, 

In  one  ear  rings  forever  true  ; 

It  thrills  one  bosom  through  and  through, 


POET   AND   CROW 

Nature's.    To  her  you  sing, 

To  her,  to  her  you  cling ; 

Your  whole  demeanor  is  devotion,  — 

All  that  grave  and  stately  motion, 

That  scorn  of  them  that  dare  be  bold 

Against  the  ancient  iron  mould. 

Courage  from  claw  to  beak, 

You  brace  us,  worn  and  weak ; 

'T  is  marrow  for  the  bones  when  forth 

You  sally  'gainst  the  braggart  North, 

Clinch  with  him  as  mixed  foe  with  foe 

The  elements,  long,  long  ago, 

When  slow  toward  form  the   crude  earth 

curled, 

And  chaos  woke,  and  was  a  world. 
But  you  have,  too,  your  gracious  ways ; 
Right  well  you  love  the  buddy  days, 
The  rondeaus  that  the  robins  sing, 
The  bluebird  music,  sweet  with  Spring. 
Then  joy  it  is  to  see 
You  on  the  dreamy  tree, 
Armored  in  darkness,  in  your  throat 
The  potence  of  the  olden  note, 
Great  faith's  own  minstrelsy : 
154 


POET   AND    CROW 

"  Let  none  despair,  nor  once  forget ; 
Lo,  there  is  corn  in  Egypt  yet !  " 
And  when  't  is  summer  in  the  land, 
And  all  the  rule  is  love's  own  hand, 
Then  in  yon  speary  field  of  mine 
Courtly  you  swagger,  stride,  and  shine, 
Liege  lord,  by  immemorial  right, 
Throughout  the  kingdom  of  God's  light. 

CROW 

I  'm  a  prince  of  the  air, 
One  scarcely  made  to  scare 
At  the  like  of  man  or  his  image ; 
I  'm  Crow,  old  Crow,  stiff  up  for  a  scrim 
mage  : 

And  it 's  out  in  the  morn, 
When  the  dew  is  on  the  corn, 

For  to  fill  my  maw  — 

Caw,  caw,  caw ! 

You  are  you,  I  am  Crow, 

A  thing  or  two  I  know : 

I  sniff  the  trigger  and  the  barrel, 

Then  off  I  flop,  I  flop  and  I  carol,  — 


POET   AND    CROW 

And  it 's  out  in  the  morn, 
When  the  dew  is  on  the  corn, 

For  to  fill  my  maw  — 

Caw,  caw,  caw ! 

I  am  Crow,  you  are  you, 

I  know  a  thing  or  two ; 

A  man  may  be  of  straw, 

But  crow  is  tough  stuff  from  beak  to  claw ; 

And  it  's  out  in  the  morn, 

When  the  dew  is  on  the  corn, 

For  to  fill  my  maw  — 

Caw,  caw,  caw ! 

I  was  born  on  the  hill, 

And  have  always  had  my  will ; 

I  am  grit  and  gristle  and  brain, 

My  every  feather  is  dyed  in  the  grain : 

And  it 's  out  in  the  morn, 

When  the  dew  is  on  the  corn, 

For  to  fill  my  maw  — 

Caw,  caw,  caw ! 


156 


THE   LOON 

WAS  never  thing, 
With  leg  or  wing, 
That  could  my  ditty  croon; 

By  mine  emerald  head, 

By  mine  eye-ball  red, 
There 's  devil  in  the  egg  of  the  loon. 

To  myself  I  mutter ; 
The  pale  leaves  flutter, 
The  lake  lifts  not  a  wave ; 

I  laugh !  —  a  blast 

Like  the  trump  at  last, 
When  the  men-things  jump  from  the  grave, 

Ha,  ha  !  Ho,  ho  I 

The  black  winds  know ; 

The  sun  is  blown  to  a  blot. 

The  storm  winds  meet, 

They  blacken  and  beat ; 
The  shore  and  the  sky  are  not. 


THE   LOON 

Ha,  ha  I  Ho,  ho  ! 

The  winds  play  so 

With  the  Lord  of  the  Lake  alone. 
The  raving  rout, 
They  shriek  and  shout ; 

The  demon's  laugh  is  mine  own. 

The  wild  winds  rake, 

They  pile  the  lake ; 

Ha,  ha  !  His  brain  is  chaff, 
The  mad-cap  loon, 
They  hatch  i'  the  moon  — 

Ha,  ha  I  I  laugh  and  I  laugh. 


TOAD 

I  'M  just  about  the  color  of  mud, 

I  've  a  bobby  mouth  and  a  knobby  back  ; 

I  bundle  away,  I  tumble  and  thud, 
I  lack  the  knack  of  walking  a  crack. 

I  sit  and  think  at  the  chink  of  my  hole  — 
Nothing    like    flies    for    a    plump,    buff 

belly— 
I  rather  reckon  I  have  n't  any  soul, 

Though  I  'm  not  altogether  pebbles  and 
jelly. 

As  soon  as  the  roses  I  smell  the  rain, 
I  wink  one  eye  when  two  would  n't  do ; 

I  pad  my  ribs,  and  I  don't  complain. 

I  'm  toad,  but  no  toady  —  How  about 
you  ? 


TO   TREE-CRICKETS 

CONSTANT  mites  that  briskly  whip 

One  measure  over  and  over, 
How  like  you  are,  a-harping  there, 

The  larger  sort  of  lover. 

Scratch-scratch,  scratch-scratch,  all  the  night, 
You  twang  it,  brave  and  cheery  ; 

One  jerky  stave,  the  whole  night  long,  — 
Deary  —  Deary  —  Deary. 

High  the  moon  rides,  high  and  clear, 

The  filling  dewdrops  glisten  ; 
Thrum,  plucky  lovers  !  well  I  know 

Your  little  ladies  listen. 

Stick  to  't,  wooers  !    So  will  I, 

Nor  ever  slightest  vary 
The  one  sweet  word  of  all  the  world,  — 

Mary  —  Mary  —  Mary. 


160 


QUATRAINS  AND  SONNETS 


MY   SONG 

MY  song,  you  need  be  neither  long  nor  loud, 
If  only  love  and  beauty's  own  you  are ; 

It  is  the  one  breath  curls  the  leaf  and  cloudy 
'The  one  life  lights  the  daisy  and  the  star. 


PROSE   FOR   WOES 

MARRY, -sirs,  here  's  merry  greeting! 

Who  hath  woes,  let  him  put  'em  in  prose  ; 
Song  was  born  and  bred  a  sweeting, 

On  her  lips  a  tune,  at  her  throat  a  rose. 


THE   POET 


A  PRIEST  of  Heaven,  some  gracious  hour, 
Lowered  to  him  chasuble  and  stole ; 

He  sings  a  weed  —  it  is  a  flower; 
He  sings  a  star  —  it  is  a  soul. 

ii 

He  knows  her  voice,  he  heeds  her  call, 
And  Beauty  holds  him  to  her  mother's- 
heart ; 

There  lavishes — last  gift  of  all  — 
The  secrecies  of  speech,  eternal  art. 

in 

The  poet  marvels,  while  he  sings, 
At  strangest  bright  eternal  things. 
The  accent  is  not  all  his  own ; 
Betimes  the  god  sings  on  alone. 


164 


MEMORY 


WOULD  you  Love's  fairest  daughter  see, 
Look  on  her,  yonder,  —  Memory, 
Leaning  in  thought-em  marbled  grace, 
With  dream-lit,  half-averted  face. 

ii 

Stiller  than  where  that  city  lies  asleep, 
With  fabled  spires  deep  in  the  swinging 

sea, 

Stiller  and  dimmer  than  that  windless  deep 
The  sad-flowered  shadow-field  of  mem 
ory. 


165 


LOST   JOY 

LOST  Joy,  who  now  is  at  your  side 
From  morning  until  eventide ; 
Who  has  you  softly  by  the  hand, 
All  up  and  down  the  summer  land  ? 


THE  LOITERING  JOYS 

NIGHT  strengthens  star  by  star, 
And  tint  by  tint  the  day  ; 

The  dearer  blisses  are 
The  longest  on  the  way. 


166 


HERE  AND  HEREAFTER 

A  VOICE  oft  speaks,  and  saith, 

"Shall   sorrow  leave   thee  at  the  gate  of 

death  ? 

Heaven's  stars  illume  earth's  night ; 
Why  not  earth-shadows  dim  the  Hills  of 

Light?" 


BUT  ONCE 


Two,  from  the  Heights  of  Quiet, 
Come,  one  day,  to  men  ; 

Two,  Love  and  Death,  come  hither 
Once,  and  not  again. 


167 


TO  THE  DREGS 

LOVE'S  lips  or  the  betrayer's  kiss, 

Drink,  nor  despair ; 
The  fates  mix  neither  bane  nor  bliss 

Too  great  to  bear. 


FATE 

A  SUNBEAM  kissed  a  river-ripple, — "Aye 
Shall  live  the  love  'twixt  thee  and  me ! " 

In  night's  wide  darkness  passed  the  light 

away, 
The  river  mingled  with  the  sea. 


168 


THE  WIND  VOICE 

"  STEP   softly  ;    where  your  foot  is  was  a 

flower. 
Perhaps  upon  June's   dearest  grave  you 

tread." 

It  follows  me,  haunts  every  autumn  hour. 
The  wind  voice  talking  of  the  blossom 
dead. 


SLAIN 

WAR  met  him,  and  fell  pestilence, 

Sore  toil  and  want,  all  the  dread  foes  of 

every  day  ; 

These  he  struck  down,  then  went  he  hence, 
Sent  by  a  soft  cat-thing  that  clawed  him 
in  her  play. 


169 


THE  VICTOR 

ALONG  all  ways  the  path  of  triumph  lies ; 

All  places  own  the  victor's  art, — 
To   do   that   greater    thing   than    win   the 
prize, 

Lose  it,  unhurt  in  hope,  in  heart. 


NOW 

THINE  hour  is  now ;  ay,  though  the  Hand 

Have  kingdoms  yet  in  store, 
He  that  to-day  is  king  will  stand 

As  if  there  were  no  more. 


170 


THE  ANGEL  STANDING  BY 

REVERE  thy  roof;  life  has  no  more 
To  give  than  now  is  at  the  door. 
Where  looks  the  clear,  home-keeping  eye. 
There  is  the  angel  standing  by. 


WOULDST  HEAR  THE  SINGING 
OF  THE  SPHERES 

WOULDST  hear  the  singing  of  the  spheres, 
Hark  with  closed  ears ; 
Wouldst  follow  Beauty  to  her  skies, 
Look  with  closed  eyes. 


171 


THE  OLD 

MUST  be  God's  warders  hearken  every  sigh, 
Draw  close  and  lovingly  around  the  old ; 

The  glories  on  the  going  summer  lie, 
On  the  spent  sun   attend   the   hosts  in 
gold. 


THUS  RUN  THE  HOURS 

THUS  run  the  hours :  blithe  calls  at  break 

of  day, 

A  sighing  when  the  light  has  passed  away ; 
The  dawn,  the  noon,  then  gloom  upon  the 

gold, 
Music    fallen    mute,    or    moaning,  youth 

grown  old. 


172 


OUR  TWO  GIFTS 

Two  gifts  God  giveth,  and  He  saith, 
One  shall  be  forfeit  in  the  strife, 
The  one  no  longer  needed,  —  life  ; 

No  hand  shall  take  the  other,  —  death. 


TEARS 

THE  lips  are  pallid,  parched  with  woes  ? 

Weep  !  the  fall  of  tears  is  not  in  vain  ; 

In  the  grass  is  laughter  after  rain, 
The  blush  is  back  upon  the  rose. 


T73 


TRUST 


WELCOME  the  shadows  ;  where  they  blackest 

are 
Burns  through  the  bright  supernal  hour ; 

From  blindness  of  wide  dark  looks  out  the 

star, 
From  all  death's  night  the  April  flower. 

ii 

For  beauty  and  for  gladness  of  the  days 

Bring  but  the  meed  of  trust ; 
The  April  grass  looks  up  from  barren  ways, 

The  daisy  from  the  dust. 

in 

When  of  this  flurry  thou  shalt  have  thy  fill, 
The  thing  thou  seekest,  it  will  seek  thee 
then: 

The  heavens  repeat  themselves  in  waters  still 
And  in  the  faces  of  contented  men. 


WISDOM 

To  wisdom  grief  is  sweet  as  mirth, 
And  toil  is  one  with  rest ; 

The  death  groan  is  the  cry  of  birth, 
The  grave  the  mother-breast. 


DEATH 

v/ 

FEAREST  the  shadow?    Keep  thy  trust ; 

Still  the  star-worlds  roll. 
Fearest  death  ?  sayest,  "Dust  to  dust  ?  " 

No  ;  say,  "  Soul  to  soul !  " 


THE  FIRST  DAWN 

HE  that  engenders    had   called  forth   the 

world ; 
The  mist,  ingathered  from  the  vast  of 

space, 

Together  drawn,  had  fashioned  a  great  face 
Of  vale  and  mountain,  tree,  and  river  curled. 
Of  all  the  leaves  and  flowers  was  none  un 
furled, 

No  bird  had  song,  no  voice  the  giant  race 
Of  beasts  ;  for  darkness  held  her  ancient 

place, 
The  day-god's  bolt  glowed  in  his  hand,  un- 

hurled. 
But  eastward,  now,  dream-colors,  faint  and 

far, 
Foretold  to  those  first  lives  the  end  of 

night, 

And  from  black  silence  all  leapt  up  as 
one  ; 


THE   FIRST    DAWN 

The  mother-dark,  with  neither  moon   nor 

star, 
Was  thick  with  wild  eyes  looking  for  the 

light, 

And  throats  of  thunder  for  the  com 
ing  sun. 


'77 


THE  DEATH  OF  ADAM 

JT  WAS  Adam  at  the  gates  of  Paradise ; 
Sick  with  the  world's  first  sickness,  pros 
trate,  pale, 
Low  lay  he,  in  his  pain.    And  they  made 

wail 
That  stood  by  him :  "  O  father,  dim  your 

eyes 
And  filmed ;  they  cannot  see  the  dreadful 

skies. 
Across    the   heavens    black    cloud-wings 

reach  and  sail, 
And  prowling  shadow   crouches   in  the 

vale. 

What  burden,  father,  on  the  hurt  earth  lies? " 

"  I  hunger,  wife  and  children,  for  the  bough 

Whereof  I   ate.     Go  thou,  swift-footed 

Seth, 

And  pluck  from  that  sweet  tree."  — 
With  eyes  mist-dim 


THE    DEATH    OF   ADAM 

He  looked  on  it.   "  Nay,  wife,  nay,  children, 

now 
Is  here  the  one  He  spake  of  to  me,  — 

Death  ; 

With  hollow  voice  he  bids  me  follow 
him." 


179 


THE    PASSING   OF   THE   QUEEN 

(JANUARY  22,  1901) 

ANSWER  the  cabin  and  the  hunting-shed 

The  voice  of  mourning  in  the  royal  halls  ; 

The  shadow  crawls  upon  the  crowned  head, 

From  out  her  palsied  hand  the  sceptre 

falls. 

So.  Wrap  her  in  the  banner  from  her  walls, 
And  in  her  regal  peace  be  comforted. 

Hark  !  up  and  down  the  earth  gray  honor 

calls, 

And  the  long  glories  gather  round  her  bed. 
Through  all  the  years  her  people  have  been 

fed, 

Yea,  the  wild  ox  has  fatted  in  her  stalls  ; 
To  islands  of  the  sea  her  lines  have  spread, 
Proud  sons  of  song  have  sung  her  mad 
rigals. 
Come,  while  the  growing  pageants  past  her 

sweep, 

Wrap  round  the  banner-fold,  and  let  her 
sleep. 

1 80 


MY   BOOKS 

MY  books,  you  have  made  light  the  heavy 

time, 

Have  made  me  whole  with  strong,  restor 
ing  thought ; 
By  you  I  have  been  heartened  and  been 

taught 

In  noble  prose,  in  high  immortal  rime. 
You   are   mine  oaken  staff  when  I  would 

climb, 
Mine   armor   when   the   battle   must   be 

fought ; 
To    you    I    owe    the    best  that   I    have 

wrought, 

Life's  jarring  bells  lost  in  the  larger  chime. 
In  loneliness  what  faithful  company  ! 
In  social  hours,  of  comrades  all  the  best, 
Champions  of  hope  and  cheer,  of  right 

and  truth. 
Be  closer  yet  along  the  way  to  be ; 

The  farther  that  I  journey  toward  the  west 
The  oftener  tent  me  by  the  wells  of 
youth. 

181 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN 

Low  at  my  feet  is  stretched  the  lordly  vale ; 
Across  my  realm  the  high  wild  stars  are 

led; 
My  garment  is  the  light,  the  darkness 

dread ; 

I  wrap  me  round  with  rain  and  snow  and  hail. 

Round  me  and  round  the  eagles  nest  and  sail ; 

Between  my  knees   the   thunders   make 

their  bed ; 
I  lap  the  storm-winds,  and  their  young 

are  bred, 
Their  young  that  play,  and  chafe  my  rocky 

mail. 

Who  cometh  up  to  me,  he  shall  have  power, 
The  prophet's  power,  the  old  law-giver's 

might ; 

Ay,  he  shall  have  the  tablet  in  his  hand. 
He  shall  not  fail,  but  in  the  evil  hour 
And  good,  uplifted,  clothed  upon  with 

light, 

His  neck  unbowed,  as  I  stand  shall  he 
stand. 

182 


GROWN   OLD   WITH    NATURE 

IF  yonder  lie  another,  better  land, 

A  fairer  than  this  humble  mother-shore, 
Hoping  to  meet  the  dear  ones  gone  before, 
I  fain  would  go.    But  may  no  angel  hand 
Lead  on  so  far  along  the  shining  sand, 
So  wide  within  the  everlasting  door, 
All  lost  will  be  this  good  green  world. 

No  more 
Of  Earth !     Let  me  not  hear  that  dread 

command. 
Then  must  I  mourn,  unsoothed  by  harps 

of  gold, 
Mourn  for  the  boughs,  the  birds,  which 

taught  me  song, 

Mourn  for  the  nightfall  on  the  forest  fold ; 
Yea,    must    bemoan,    amid    the   joyous 

throng, 
The  early  loves.    The  heart  that  has  grown 

old 

With  Nature  cannot,   happy,  leave  her 
long. 

183 


TWO    FRIENDS 

I  HONOR  him  who  needs  must  chop  the  stone, 
Must  pluck  the  root  up,  murder  beast  and 

bird, 

Then  label  with  a  very  butcher's  word 
The  bleeding  pieces.    Though  he  build  his 

throne 

On  brittle  stalks  and  hollow  carcass-bone, 
Still  by  a  princely  purpose  is  he  stirred ; 
And  such  his  thirst  for  knowledge  long 

deferred, 

Kind  Nature  counts  him  in  among  her  own. 
But  him  I  love  the  Muses  make  their 

care, 

Leading  his  feet  wherever  he  may  go, 
To  spell  the  gentle  magic  of  the  air, 
Of  olden  boughs  and  darkest  brooks  that 

flow. 
He  has  my  heart ;  for  perfect  things  and 

fair 

He  finds,  and  leaves  them  fairer  than  they 
grow. 


I   WOULD  N'T 

A  SPRIG  of  mint  by  the  wayward  brook, 
A  nibble  of  birch  in  the  wood, 

A  summer  day  and  love  and  a  book, 
And  I  would  n't  be  king  if  I  could. 


THE   SKILFUL   LISTENER 

WHO  listens  well  hears  Nature  on  her  round, 
When  least  she  thinks  it;  bird  and  bough 
and  stream 

Not  only,  but  her  silences  profound, 

Surprised  by  nicer  cunning  of  his  dream. 


TWO   VOICES 

THE  winds  at  play  on  a  breezy  day, 
Sweet,  sweet  to  hear  what  they  sing  and  say; 
But  sweeter  the  murmur  of  winds  that  blow 
When  only  the  heart  and  the  high  leaves 
know. 


MY   FANCIES 

THE  winds  are  faint ;  the  leaves,  not  sure 

they  blow, 

Fall  slumbering  as  they  flutter  to  and  fro. 
So,  drowsy  fancies,  out  of  dream  you  start, 
To  fall  asleep  again  upon  my  heart. 


186 


SPRING 


THE  pussy-willow  and  the  hazel  know, 
The  bluebird  and  the  robin,  what  rings 

true; 

I  trust  to  such,  and  let  the  whiners  go. 
Bravo  !  bluff  March  ;  I  swing  my  hat  to 
you. 

ii 

Bring,  bluebird,  from  the  blue  above 
The  song  Love's  heavenly  own  ; 

See  !  hand  in  hand,  come  Spring  and  Love  — 
Or  is  it  Love  alone  ? 


EARLY    MORNING 

A  WEBBY  mead  with  diamonds  set, 
Dim,  drowsy  boughs,  dream-burdened  yet, 
A  mist-flock  half-way  up  the  steep, 
Curled  there,  rock-folded,  still  asleep. 


THE  SOUTH  WIND 

HERALD  of  blissful  summertide  come  I  ; 

I  wander  by, 

Singing  of  sweetest   things   the  June   day 

knows,  — 
Love  and  the  rose. 


188 


THE  HERMIT-THRUSH 

HOLY,  Holy  !  —  In  the  hush 
Hearken  to  the  hermit-thrush  ; 
All  the  air 
Is  in  prayer. 


TWILIGHT 

THE  glories  falter  on  the  mountain  crown, 
The  smooth  blue   heavens   let  their  quiet 

down, 

The  little  wondering  lights  no  longer  leap, 
And,  leaf  on  leaf,  the  cool   trees  droop  in 

sleep. 


189 


HAUNTING  MY  DREAMS 

THERE  be  two  things  that  haunt  my  dreams  : 

the  flower 

Swinging  on  rocky  hilltops  all  alone, 
The  minstrelsy  of  silence  at  the  hour 
When  the  last  bird  has  to  her  hiding 
flown. 


190 


THE  PASSING  OF  AUTUMN 


SLOW  trembles  from  her  envied  crown 

A  red  leaf  down  ; 

And  the  smile  dies 

Into  the  darkness  of  her  eyes. 

ii 

The  hurt  hours  droop  and  hover, 

Passing  the  hallowed  place  ; 
The  pale  moon  leans  above  her, 

Weeps  down  upon  her  face. 

in 

The  swamp-tree  sighs,  and  the  thin  sharp 

reed, 
The  wire-grass  whines,  and  the  stiff  brown 

weed, 
The   lone   hill-mullein    stands   dumb   and 

tall, 

The  low  clouds  hover,  the  long  rains  fall. 
IQI 


THE    PASSING   OF   AUTUMN 

IV 

The    brook,  slow    northward    toward    the 

snows, 

Bubbling  its  little  trouble,  goes ; 
Lorn  branches  beckon,  strained  in  space; 
Death-pale  the  field's  beseeching  face. 


A  wind,  whence  no  man  knows, 
Through  the  grating  weeds  it  blows ; 
It  comes,  it  sighs  and  goes. 
Once  it  rocked  the  summer  rose. 


192 


THE  TREES 

MEN  hope  and  labor  and  despair, 
Laughter  they  have  and  sorrow  ; 

The  trees  their  gods'  composure  wear 
To-morrow  and  to-morrow. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  WIND 

MY  breath  is  on  the  mountain  pine, 

My  murmur  on  the  sea  ; 
The  burden  haunts  that  heart  of  thine, 

Love  and  eternity. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  GRASS 

i 

ERE   roves    the   bee   or  cometh  forth   the 

flower, 
Ere  on  the   tree  the  south   wind   bloweth 

power. 
The   naked    place    I   crown;    I    edge    the 

stream  ; 
Into  love's  face  I  look,  and  feed  her  dream. 

ii 

My  lot  with  man  is  cast. 

I  round  him  shine  and  wave, 
Nor  fail  him  at  the  last : 

I  lie  upon  his  grave. 


194 


EARLIER   AND    LIGHTER 
VERSES 


THE  WAY  OF  IT 

THE  wind  is  awake,   pretty   leaves,  pretty 

leaves, 
Heed  not  what  he  says ;    he  deceives,  he 

deceives : 
Over  and  over 
To  the  lowly  clover 
He  has  lisped  the  same  love  (and  forgotten 

it,  too) 
He  will  soon  be  lisping  and  pledging  to 

you. 

The  boy  is  abroad,  pretty  maid,  pretty  maid, 
Beware  his  soft  words ;    I  'm   afraid,   I  'm 

afraid : 

He  has  said  them  before 
Times  many  a  score, 
Ay,  he  died  for  a  dozen  ere  his  beard  pricked 

through, 

And  the  very  same  death  he  will  die  for  you. 
197 


THE   WAY   OF    IT 

The  way  of  the  boy  is  the  way  of  the  wind, 
As  light  as  the  leaves  is  dainty  maid-kind ; 

One  to  deceive, 

And  one  to  believe  — 
That  is  the  way  of  it,  year  to  year ; 
But  I  know  you  will  learn  it  too  late,  my 
dear. 


198 


TO   YOUNGSTERS 

GOLDEN  hair  and  eyes  of  blue, 
What  won't  they  do,  what  won't  they  do  ? 
The  gaitered  foot,  the  taper  waist  — 
Be  not  in  haste,  be  not  in  haste ; 
Before  your  chin  grows  twenty  spear, 
My  word  for 't,  youngster,  they  '11  appear. 

Raven  hair  and  eyes  of  night 
Undo  the  boys  (it  serves  'em  right) ; 
The  drooping  curl,  the  downward  glance, 
They  are  only  waiting  for  the  chance ; 
They  have  not  failed  this  thousand  year, 
Right  in  the  nick,  lad,  they  '11  appear. 

Shapely  hands  and  arms  of  snow, 
There 's  nothing  like  them  here  below ; 
The  cheeks  that  blush,  the  lips  that  smile  - 
A  little  while,  a  little  while  — 
Tease  out  the  sprout,  sir,  never  fear, 
Before  you  know  it  they  '11  be  here. 
199 


TO    YOUNGSTERS 

Hands,  and  hair,  and  lips,  and  eyes, 

In  these  the  tyro's  danger  lies ; 

A  touch,  a  tress,  a  glance,  a  sigh, 

And  then,  my  boy,  good-by  —  good-by  ! 

God  help  you,  youngster  !  keep  good  cheer ; 

Coax  on  your  chin  to  twenty  spear. 


200 


"SWEET-THING"   JANE 

WHEN  somebody  comes  a-tripping  down, 
The  winds  all   at  play  with  her   hair  and 

gown; 

The  very  same  winds  that  are  just  too  lazy 
To  lift  a  leaf  or  to  swing  a  daisy,  — 
Then  hold  your  heart  with  might  and  main  ; 
She  is  crossing  the  meadow,  "  Sweet-thing  " 

Jane. 

She  always  chooses  the  cool  of  the  day, 

The  way  down  to  Lovetown,  that 's  her  way ; 

She  knows  very  well  (what  is  well  worth 
knowing) 

There's   only  one  road  —  the  road  she  is 
going; 

And  she  knows  she  is  sweet  as  a  rose  in  the 
rain, 

And  she  knows  —  she  will  tell  you,  "  Sweet- 
thing  "  Jane. 

201 


"SWEET-THING"  JANE 

A  light  will  burn  in  the  blue  of  her  eye, 
Like  the  star  lit  first  in  the  evening  sky  ; 
And  over  her  lips  will  bubble  the  laughter 
The  brooks  in  the  sun  go  running  after ; 
You  will  see,  you  will  hear,  at  the  gate  in 

the  lane, 
While  slowly  it  opens  to  "  Sweet-thing " 

Jane. 

You  will  open  it  wide,  then  what  will  you 

do? 

Why,  you  will  be  off  for  Lovetown,  too; 
The  cool  of  the  day  is  your  lovers'  weather, 
And  all  go  to  Lovetown  two  together. 
You  may  hold  your  heart  with  might  and 

main, 
She  will  have  it  at  last,  will  "  Sweet-thing  " 

Jane. 


202 


WHAT   I   WOULD 

I  WOULD  have  a  poet's  book. 
In  a  shady  summer  nook, 
Where  I  could  around  me  look, 

As  a  lover  may  ; 
I  would  have  a  little  hand 
In  my  own ;  would  hold  it,  and  — 
Hold  it,  and  —  you  understand. 

That  would  be  my  way, 

All  a  summer's  day. 

I  would  read  a  fervent  page, 
Then  explain,  a  very  sage, 
All  about  the  poet's  rage, 

As  a  lover  may ; 

A  modest  charge  were  meet  for  this, 
Just  the  brief  rubific  bliss 
Of  a  not-quite-willing  kiss. 

That  would  be  my  way, 

All  a  summer's  day. 

203 


COME   ALONG,   DEARY 

HILL  to  vale,  with  measures  gay, 
Singing  the  green  upon  the  gray, 
Sweet  and  kind,  sweet  and  kind, 
Singing  and  kissing  goes  the  wind. 

Singing  to  me  and  singing  to  you ; 
Come  along,  Deary  !    What  others  do 
Never  mind,  never  mind ; 
Singing  and  kissing  goes  the  wind. 


204 


MY   CASTLE   IN   THE   AIR 

OR  in  the  East  or  in  the  West, 
Where  shall  I  build  my  bird  a  nest  ? 
Northward  or  southward,  whither  roam 
To  build  my  little  love  a  home  ? 

Up  yonder,  in  the  clean,  sweet  air, 
I  think  that  I  could  keep  her,  there, 
Too  much  an  angel  for  the  ground, 
For  heaven  somewhat  too  warm  and  round. 


t^ttHA^5 
UNIVERSITY 


205 


LITTLE    LOVE   FORGETTETH 
HIS   UMBRELLA 

(ANACREON) 

LOVE  came,  one  night,  his  wings  all  wet, 
And  put  his  face  against  the  pane, 
And  shook  his  ringlets  in  the  rain ; 
When  soon  I  heard  the  sweetest  noise, 
Made  'twixt  the  wind,  his  wings  and  voice; 
I  heard  it,  and  I  hear  it  yet. 

What  could  I  do  but  ope  the  door, 

And  take  him  softly  from  the  storm, 
And  rub  his  rosy  body  warm, 
And  hang  to  dry  the  slackened  bow 
And  silver  arrows,  dripping  so, 
And  make  him  happy  as  before  ? 

I  wist  not  what  he  was  about : 

He  took  an  arrow  dry  and  clean, 
And  said, "  'T  will  fly  right  well,  I  ween." 
Now,  here  it  is,  the  very  dart, 
The  barbs  well  fastened  in  my  heart, 
Only  the  feathers  sticking  out. 
206 


AUTO-DA-FE 

(To  C.  W.   F.) 

HEIGH-HO,  a  drowsy,  drippy  day 
Suits  well  your  single  gentlemen 
Whose  locks  begin  to  show  the  gray. 
The  grizzly  drizzle  round  my  "den," 
'T  is  sent  on  purpose,  I  dare  say, 
For  bachelor's  auto-da-fe. 
I  have  the  ribboned  missives  here, 
The  hearth  flames  flicker  low,  but  clear, 
The  spell  is  on,  —  the  savage  spell 
To  do  the  burning  quickly,  well ; 
So,  to  it. 

Heavens  !  how  old  am  I  ? 
It  seems  a  hundred  year  since  she 
That  inked  this  paper  said  to  me, 
"  You  will  be  older  by  and  by, 
I  was  a  beardless  rover  then, 
The  Callow  Knight  of  the  Daring  Pen, 
A-tilting  in  the  lists  of  air 
For  every  damsel  counted  fair. 
207 


AUTO-DA-FE 

Constance,  your  knight  is  older,  now  ; 
And  you  ?    The  dusk  will  dull  the  bough 
Was  brightest  with  the  morning  gold. 
As  time's  own  hand  let  mine  be  bold,  — 
Spring  up,  brave  little  tongues  of  fire ; 
Here  I  begin  the  precious  pyre. 

These  ?   These  from  merry  Margaret. 
I  never  loved  her,  never  ;  yet 
There  was  a  something  us  between 
That  keeps  a  spear  of  memory  green,  — 
A  plucky,  strong,  unbrothered  blade, 
Still  smiling  in  its  depth  of  shade. 
Well-turned  the  hand  that  down  this  page 
Drew  line  to  line,  each  letter  clear 
And  firm  from  "  Jolly  John,  my  dear," 
Far  as  the  awkward  word  "  engage." 
"  Engage,"  "  engage  "  !    Did  I  propose  ? 
Here  't  is  again,  right  at  the  close. 
Plump  Margaret,  if  this  be  true, 
In  those  young  days  what  did  n't  I  do  ? 
For  shame  ! —  Up,  up,  good  flames  !  To 

you 

I  toss  this  costly  treasure,  too. 
208 


AUTO-DA-FE 

There  's  nothing  like  a  rainy  day 
When  one  would  put  old  loves  away. 
Ha,  this  trig  bundle,  what  an  air 
Of  pride  about  it !  And  the  care 
To  make  a  fellow  bite  the  dust : 
"  Down  on  your  knee,  you  ••  must,  you 

must !  " 

And  probably  I  did  go  down, 
(General  prostration  seized  the  town,) 
In  fact,  I  know  I  did ;  but  then, 
Somehow  I  found  my  feet  again. 
A  girl 's  a  girl,  a  boy  's  a  fool, 
And  life,  it  proves  a  sorry  school.  — 
Proud  queen,  cloud-born,  serene  and  high, 
To  bow  low  down  is  not  to  die  ; 
Long  I  survive  all  injury 
To  aching  heart  or  quaking  knee. 
But  mark !  a  chance  word,  here  and  there, 
Says  yet  you  could  a  little  "  care." 
Imperial  Lois,  'tis  too  late.  — 
These  from  Her  Highness,  gentle  grate. 

And,  now,  to  Helen.    Taste  of  wine 
Is  on  my  lips,  the  sting  of  spices ; 

200 


AUTO-DA-FE 

This  dark-eyed  marvel  was  divine, 

Even  in  mundanity's  devices. 

She  traced  these  pages  sharp  and  fast 

As  hailstones  drive  on  the  winter  blast ; 

Tame  passion  Helen  never  knew ; 

A  very  hurricane  she  blew, 

Or  sat  in  midst  of  awful  calm. 

No  other  ever  sang  a  psalm 

As  she  could  sing  it,  on  occasion ; 

And  hers  alone  the  eyes  could  play 

Such  antics  after  the  operation. 

Charmer  half-wild  in  heart  and  mind, 

Angel  with  a  dash  of  the  tiger  kind, 

Love's  leopard,  —  Helen,  off  and  on, 

We  loved  it  madly,  years  agone. 

When  you  were  married  —  Blaze,  bright 

pyre ! 
I  add  these  also,  fire  to  fire. 

And  still  the  rain,  the  gray,  gray  rain  ! 
Old  Rover's  nose  is  at  the  pane.  — 
Rover,  you  wag  your  tail  in  vain ; 
Not  any  roving  on  the  day  — 
The  day  we  put  old  loves  away.  — 

2IO 


AUTO-DA-FE 

'Tis  almost  done;  one  offering  more. 
What  says  the  clock  ?   Quarter  of  four.  — 
Here  's  for  you,  fellow ;  foul  or  fair, 
Rover,  't  is  time  we  took  the  air.  — 
These  last,  these  little  yellow  scraps, 
Good  fire,  ere  long,  perhaps  —  perhaps. 


211 


LOVE'S   IN   TOWN 

COLOR  in  the  lilacs, 

And  singing  in  the  air ; 

Sweet  is  for  the  having, 
Plenty  and  to  spare. 

Fuzzy  are  the  bushes, 

The  fields  are  all  a-smile ; 

Phyllis  has  a  feeling 

Life  is  well  worth  while ; 

Dian  tests  her  dimples, 
Griselda  fetches  sighs  ; 

Amaryllis  loosens 

The  lightnings  in  her  eyes ; 

Roxy  knots  her  ribbons, 
Belinda  binds  her  zone  ;  — 

Pluck  your  heart  up,  Colin  ! 
Philander,  hold  your  own  ! 

Tell  it  up  and  down, 
Love  's  in  town  ! 
212 


SONG  OF  THE  COUNTRY   LASS 

A  LASS  am  I,  and  I  wait  my  day ; 

To  some  't  will  be  nay,  but  to  one  't  will 

be  yea ; 
When  the  time  comes,  I  shall  know  what 

to  say. 

The  winter  goes,  and  the  warm  wind  blows, 
And  who  shall  keep  the  color  from  the 
red,  red  rose  ? 

The  blossom  blue  and  the  blossom  pink, 
The  bee  may  love  both,  but  I  know  what  I 

think : 

One  he  loves  best,  and  there  will  he  drink. 
There  is  bloom  for  the  bee,  there  is  dew 

for  the  grass, 

And  the  cup  is  not  empty  for  a  country 
lass. 

A  lass  am  I,  neither  high  nor  low  ; 

My  heart  is  mine  now,  but  I  'd  have  the 

world  know, 

When  the  wind  's  right,  away  it  will  go. 
213 


SONG  OF  THE  COUNTRY  LASS 

The  brook   sings   below,  and  the  bird 

sings  above, 
And  sweeter  in  between  sings  the  lover  to 

his  love. 


214 


LOVE'S   WORLD 

IF  the  year  be  at  her  Spring 
I  neither  know  nor  care ; 

I  have  the  bird-song  of  your  speech, 
The  warm  rain  of  your  hair. 
I  question  not  if  thrushes  sing, 
If  roses  load  the  air; 

Beyond  my  heart  I  need  not  reach 
When  all  is  summer  there. 

I  go  not  by  the  blue  above, 
By  grasses  green  or  sere  ; 

Your  silences,  your  sigh,  your  smile, 
They  mark  my  time  o'  year. 
Its  own  brave  wonder-world  has  love; 
So  fair  it  is,  I  fear 

Sometimes  'twill  fade  and  go  the  while 
I  look  upon  you,  dear. 


215 


LIFE   AND    I 

As  the  shadows  glide 

Over  the  wheat  on  the  ripe  hillside, 

So  we  journey,  Life  and  I : 

O  sweet  youth-time,  go  not  by  ! 

« 
Where  the  warm  winds  meet, 

To  the  wreathed  pipe  we  time  our  feet ; 
There  we  linger,  Life  and  I : 
O  sweet  youth-time,  go  not  by  ! 

Where  the  grasses  play, 
Ever  we  wander  away  and  away, 
Singing,  laughing,  Life  and  I  : 
O  sweet  youth-time,  go  not  by  ! 


216 


AT   CANDLE-LIGHTING 

I  THINK  it  better  to  believe, 

And  be  even  as  the  children,  they 
The  children  of  the  early  day, 

Who  let  the  kindly  dream  deceive, 

And  joyed  in  all  the  mind  may  weave 
Of  dear  conceit  —  better,  I  say, 
To  let  wild  fancy  have  her  way, 

To  trust  her  than  to  know  and  grieve. 

A  poet  of  old  Colophon 

A  notion  held  I  think  was  right, 
No  matter  how  or  whence  he  gat  it 

The  stars  are  snuffed  out  every  dawn. 
And  newly  lighted  every  night. 
I  hope  to  catch  the  angels  at  it. 


217 


THE   OPEN   HEART 

WOULD  you  understand 

The  language  with  no  word. 
The  speech  of  brook  and  bird, 

Of  waves  along  the  sand  ? 

Would  you  make  your  own 
The  meaning  of  the  leaves, 
The  song  the  silence  weaves 

Where  little  winds  made  moan  ? 

Would  you  know  how  sweet 
The  falling  of  the  rill, 
The  calling  on  the  hill, — 

All  tunes  the  days  repeat  ? 

Neither  alms  nor  art, 

No  toil,  can  help  you  hear ; 

The  secret  of  the  ear 
Is  in  the  open  heart. 

218 


SUMMER   RAIN 

DROPS  of  summer  rain 
Tapping  at  the  pane, 
Welcome,  little  hearts  of  air, 
Beating,  beating,  beating  there. 

Haply  I  know  why 

Raindrops  quit  the  sky : 

Every  lily,  every  rose 

Well  that  gentle  knocking  knows. 

Rose  and  lily-cup 

Fill  it,  fill  it  up  ; 

Only  lovers  from  the  sky 

On  the  breasts  of  blossoms  lie. 


219 


SONG  OF  THE  SUMMER  HOURS 

WE  happy  hearts  for  nothing  are 

If  not  for  ringing  praises  ; 
A  song  for  Summer,  near  and  far. 

From  hilltop  down  to  daisies  ! 

We  wind  her  hair  with  leaves  and  flowers, 

In  places  green  and  shady ; 
We  are  the  happy  summer  hours, 

And  Summer  is  our  Lady. 

Come,  sing  with  us  !  the  while  we  run 

Is  Summer  going,  going. 
Some  say  she  loves  the  roving  sun  ; 

There  is  no  knowing,  knowing. 


220 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   ROSES 

ON  the  south  winds  a  flurry ; 

The  slow  clouds  hurry, 

The  blue  looks  knowing. 

There  is  coming  and  going 

Of  voices  and  wings  and  feet ; 

There  is  bringing  and  mixing  of  sweet, 

Of  tenderest  hues 

The  deft  hours  use ; 

There  is  peering  of  happy  faces 

From  secret,  shadowy  places. 

The  fluters  of  June 

Blow  a  blissful  tune ; 

On  the  leaves  but  the  gleam 

And  the  tremble  of  dream  ; 

The  gate  of  the  sun-god  closes. 
But,  all  alone,  will  Love  toil  on, 
Labor  she  will  till  the  dark  be  gone ; 

And  to-morrow  there  '11  be  roses. 


221 


THE   MUSIC   OF   NATURE 

THE  song  of  Nature  is  forever, 
Her  joyous  voices  falter  never ; 
On  hill  and  valley,  near  and  far, 
Attendant  her  musicians  are. 

From  waterbrook  or  forest  tree 
For  aye  comes  gentle  melody ; 
The  very  air  is  music  blent, 
A  universal  instrument. 

When  hushed  are  bird  and  brook  and  wind, 
Then  silence  will  some  measure  find, 
Still  sweeter ;  as  a  memory 
Is  sweeter  than  the  things  that  be. 


222 


FOR   THE    MAKING   OF    MUSIC 

TAKE  of  the  maiden's,  of  the  mother's  sigh, 
Of  childhood's  dream,  the  hope  and  peace 

that  bless 

Old  age ;  take  of  the  lover's  kiss,  caress, 
Of  light  it  kindles  in  the  loved-one's  eye ; 
Of  June's  long  shadows,  Autumn's  evening 

sky, 

Of  roses,  of  the  south  wind's  tenderness, 
Of  stars    that    burn   through  pine-tops, 

sprays  that  tress 
The  willow-banks  where  brooks  run  stillest 

by; 
Take  of  the  blissful    lisping  of  young 

Spring, 

Take  of  the  last  faint,  pleading  grief  of  Fall, 
Of  joy  and  woe  that  sleep  and  waking 

bring,— 

The  costliest  offerings  of  the  great,  the  small; 
Now,  pour  into  the  empty  soul  each  thing, 
And  let  the  Finger  touch  that  moveth  all. 
223 


OVER   THE   HILL 

WHERE  wild  flowers  were  and  rippling  grass, 
I  chanced  upon  a  country  lass ; 
"  Was  never  lovelier  home,"  I  said. 
She  hung  her  head,  blushed  very  red, 
Then  raised  her  eyes,  as  maidens  will,  — 
"  My  heart,  my  heart  lives  over  the  hill." 

So  fair  she  was,  and  so  afraid, 

I  could  not  quiz  the  little  maid ; 

So  over  hilltop  must  I  ride 

To  see  what  could  be  on  the  other  side. 

Her  words  went,  too,  as  sweet  words  will, — 

"  My  heart,  my  heart  lives  over  the  hill." 

I  crossed  the  hill,  looked  everywhere, 
And  asked  if  a  little  red  heart  lived  there. 
I  was  sure  it  did,  so  I  rode  along 
Till  I  heard  the  burden  of  a  song ; 
Sang  the  lad  o'  the  mill,  as  lads  they  will, — 
"  My  heart,  my  heart  lives  over  the  hill." 
224 


OVER   THE    HILL 

The  little  lass  and  the  miller  boy, 
The  meed  of  the  years,  the  grief,  the  joy, 
They  told  it  all,  that  summer  day ; 
However  run  the  hours  away, 
Bring  fortune  good  or  bring  it  ill, 
Heart  and  hope  live  over  the  hill. 


225 


AT   THE   HEARTHSIDE 

THE  children  tucked  away, 

His  hearthside  bright  and  still, 

The  farmer's  frowns  are  all  that  say 
The  day  has  brought  him  ill. 

The  wife — her  work  is  done  — 
Moves  cheerly  here  and  there ; 

The  comforts  gather,  one  by  one, 
Around  the  easy  chair. 

Now,  as  a  sunny  brook 

Will  woo  the  moody  shore, 

She  nears  the  gloomy  chimney  nook ; 
She  hardly  ventures  more. 

If  he  but  lift  his  face  — 

The  hearth-flames  quicken,  spring ; 
A  yielding  smile,  his  old  embrace, 

And  wife  and  kettle  sing. 


226 


THE   KITCHEN   CLOCK 

KNITTING  is  the  maid  o'  the  kitchen,  Milly, 
Doing  nothing,  sits  the  chore-boy,  Billy : 
"  Seconds  reckoned, 
Seconds  reckoned, 
Every  minute, 
Sixty  in  it ; 
Milly,  Billy, 
Billy,  Milly, 
Tick-tock,  tock-tick, 
Nick-knock,  knock-nick, 
Knockety-nick,  nickety-knock,"  — 
Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 

Closer  to  the  fire  is  rosy  Milly, 
Every  whit  as  close  and  cozy,  Billy  : 
"  Time  is  flying, 
Worth  your  trying ; 
Pretty  Milly, 
Kiss  her,  Billy ! 
Milly,  Billy, 
Billy,  Milly, 

227 


THE    KITCHEN   CLOCK 

Tick-tock,  tock-tick, 
Now  —  now,  quick  —  quick  ! 
Knockety-nick,  nickety-knock,"  — 
Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 

Something  's  happened,  very  red  is  Milly, 

Billy  boy  is  looking  very  silly : 

"  Pretty  misses, 

Plenty  kisses  ; 

Make  it  twenty, 

Take  a  plenty ; 

Billy,  Milly, 

Milly,  Billy, 

Right-left,  left-right, 

That  's  right,  all  right, 

Knockety-nick,  nickety-knock,"  — 

Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 

Weeks  gone,  still  they  are  sitting,  Milly, 

Billy; 

O,  the  winter  winds  are  wondrous  chilly  ! 
"Winter  weather, 
Close  together; 
Would  n't  tarry, 
Better  marry ; 

228 


THE    KITCHEN    CLOCK 

Milly,  Billy, 

Billy,  Milly, 

Two,  one  —  one,  two, 

Don't  wait,  't  won't  do, 

Knockety-nick,  nickety-knock,"  — 

Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 

Winters  two  have  gone,  and  where  is  Milly  ? 

Spring  has  come  again,  and  where  is  Billy  ? 

"  Give  me  credit, 

For  I  did  it ; 

Treat  me  kindly, 

Mind  you  wind  me ; 

Mister  Billy, 

Mistress  Milly, 

My  —  O,  O  —  my, 

By-by,  by-by, 

Nickety-knock,  cradle  rock,"  — 

Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 


229 


THE   TRAPPER'S    SWEETHEART 

WIDE  awake,  now,  mind  your  eye, 
She  will  think  on  't  by  and  by ; 
She  will  see  —  perhaps  —  she  may, 
'Gin  to-morrer,  not  to-day. 

"  Be  true  to  me, 

Furgit,"  says  she, 
Jest  as  it  may  hit  her  fancy  : 
That 's  it  zackly,  that  is  Nancy. 

Take  a  squirrel  up  a  tree, 
Jest  so  frisky,  sir,  is  she : 
Now  on  this  side,  now  on  that, 
You  must  watch  her  like  a  cat. 

It 's  "  No,"  it 's  «  Yes, 

I  rather  guess,"  — 
Jest  as  it  may  tech  her  fancy  : 
That 's  it  zackly,  that  is  Nancy. 

You  Ve  seen  creeturs  sudding  lame, 
Git  too  near  'em,  an'  —  they  're  game  ! 

230 


THE  TRAPPER'S  SWEETHEART 

Her  right  over  :  an  inch  too  near. 
Up  and  off  is  Nancy  dear. 

"  Yes,  Jake/'  says  she, 

"  Laws  sake  !  "  says  she, 
Jest  accordin'  to  her  fancy  : 
That's  it  zackly,  that  is  Nancy. 

Whew  !  a  gal 's  a  cunnin'  thing  ; 
You  must  take  'em  on  the  wing.  — 
I  '11  be  goin' ;  fur,  ye  see, 
Nancy,  she's  expectin'  me. 

I  '11  hit  or  miss  her, 

It 's  quit  or  kiss  her  ; 
I  'm  fur  facts,  while  she  's  fur  fancy  : 
That 's  us  zackly  —  me  and  Nancy. 


231 


A   SAINT  OF   YORE 

(!N  MEMORIAM  E.  V.) 

WHO  brings  it,  now,  her  sweet  accord 
To  every  precept  of  her  Lord  ? 
In  quaintly  fashioned  bonnet 
With  simplest  ribbons  on  it, 
The  older  folk  remember  well 
How  prompt  she  was  at  Sabbath  bell. 

I  see  her  yet ;  her  decent  shawl, 
Her  sober  gown,  silk  mitts,  and  all. 
The  deacons  courtly  meet  her, 
The  pastor  turns  to  greet  her, 
And  maid  and  matron  quit  their  place 
To  find  her  fan  or  smooth  her  lace. 

I  see  her  yet,  with  saintly  smile, 
Pass  slowly  up  the  quiet  aisle  ; 
Her  mien,  her  every  motion, 
Is  melody,  devotion  ; 
232 


A   SAINT   OF   YORE 

Contagious  grace  spreads  round  her  way, 
The  prayer  that  words  can  never  pray. 

Old  Groveland  Church  !  the  good  folk  fill 

It  yet,  up  on  the  windy  hill  ; 

The  grass  is  round  it  growing 

For  nearest  neighbors'  mowing ; 

The  weathered,  battered  sheds,  behind, 

Still  rattle,  rattle,  with  the  wind. 

All  is  the  same  ;  but  in  yon  ground 
Have  thickened  fast  the  slab  and  mound. 
Hark  !  Shall  I  join  the  praises  ? 
Rather,  among  the  daisies, 
Let  me,  in  peaceful  thought,  once  more 
Be  silent  with  the  saint  of  yore. 


233 


GRAN'THER 

"WHO'S  killed,  to-day  ?" 

He  asks,  in  his  ancient  way ; 

"  And  what  have  they  stolen,  this  time,  my 

lad? 
Bad  business,  my  boy,  right  bad,  right  bad  !  " 

The  pipe  —  mark  it  slide 

To  the  other  side  — 
How  he  puffs  it,  and  whews, 
Keeping  up  with  the  news  ! 

A  character  ! 

When  he  opens,  —  "I  tell  ye,  sir, 

There  's  nothing  like  knowing  cheese  from 

chalk," 
Make  ready  for  none  of  your  modern  talk ; 

Run  the  text  as  it  may, 

He  has  something  to  say, 
Be  you  never  so  clever, 
Will  squelch  you  forever. 
234 


GRAN'THER 

A  grand  old  man, 

Built  after  the  olden  plan  ! 

"  Nonsense,"  he  says  ;  "  no  trouble  so  tough 

But  good  backbone  is  doctor  enough ; " 

He  's  the  heart  of  the  farm, 

Still  its  strong  right  arm. 
How  he  smiles,  how  he  smokes, 
'Twixt  the  sermons  and  jokes  ! 


THE  OLD  FARM  BARN 

THE  maples  look  down  with  bright  eyes  in 

their  leaves, 
The  clear  drops  drip  from  the  swallow-built 

eaves, 
The    pond  is   all  dimples    from    shore   to 

shore, 
And  the  miller  smiles  back  from  his  place 

in  the  door. 

Slow  mist  from  the  mountain  comes  drifting 

down, 

The  houses  show  fainter  afar  in  the  town, 
The  gust  sweeps  up,  dies  away  again, 
Then  loud  and  fast  the  rap-tap  of  the  rain. 

Old  Nancy  looks  soberly  out  from  her  stall, 
The  drowsy  cows  —  do  they  chew  at  all  ? 
The  old  farm  barn  is  so  dusk  and  still 
The  spiders  sleep  on  the  window-sill. 


236 


THE   GOOD   OLD   TIME 

A  GRAY  old  orchard,  scarred  as  by  battle, 
A  row  of  poplars  gaunt  and  hoar, 

Dandelions,  lilacs,  and  no-name  roses, 
And  the  pewee  over  the  door ; 

Stanch  weeds,  stiff  grasses  that  challenge  the 

winter, 

Wild  cherries,  red  ripe  on  the  wall, 
The  song  of  the  birds  in  the  hush  of  the 

morning, 
At  evening,  the  low  cattle-call ; 

Savage  paths    a-bristle  with    burdock   and 

thistle, 

Strong  sun,  and  shadow  as  strong, 
Quick  brooks  that  learn   the  song  of  the 

upland, 
And  sing  it  the  still  night  long ; 

The  clover,  the  laughter,  the  chat  in  the 

shadow, 

The  noon  horn's  lusty  alarm, 
237 


THE   GOOD    OLD   TIME 

The  halting  mower,  with  a  stroke  at  the 

sweat-bee, 
Slowly  dropping  his  brown  bare  arm;  — 

Come  back    to    me    ever,   you    long-faded 
glories, 

Bringing  the  bygone  day ; 
Weave  in  my  dream  the  seasons  together 

In  your  own  dear  wayward  way. 

The  march  is  forward,  the  past  is  in  ashes, 
On  the  wreck  of  the  old  is  risen  the  new  ; 

But  the  boy  in  my  heart  with  a  shout  still 

follows 
Where  the  mowers  swing  out  in  the  dew. 


238 


COLLIE  KELSO 

(Aw  EPITAPH) 

THE  rhythmic  beating  of  his  tail, 
As  though  two  hearts  took  turn  about, 
One  thump  inside,  and  then  one  out, — 
Like  all  things  earthly,  it  must  fail. 
Pacific  gesture,  made  to  span 
The  gap  'twixt  animal  and  man, 
Death  stopt  it.    One  last  waggle  ;  so 
Went  Kelso  where  the  good  dogs  go. 


239 


BROTHER  BACHELOR  BATRA- 
CHIAN 

"  Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  " 

Ho,  hermit  of  the  cellar  wall, 
If  you  are  coming  out  at  all, 
Come  now ;  in  thirty  minutes  more 
The  rain  will  trickle  down  your  door. 
Come,  come  ;  hurrah,  there,  bachelor  lump  ! 
Betwixt  a  waddle  and  a  jump, 
Judge-like  ascend  your  own  toad-stool, 
Worked  out  last  night  by  wizard's  tool. 
Ha,  there  you  are,  sedate  as  ever ; 
Prodigious  plain,  but  passing  clever. 
The  years  are  twenty  to  a  day 
Since  you  and  I  first  sat  this  way ; 
How  many  more  think  you  to  squat, 
Contented,  on  our  pleasant  spot  ? 
Be  frank  with  me,  you  wily  monk, 
Impervious,  solemn,  clumsy  chunk ! 
What  mischief  are  you  plotting,  now, 
Squaring  about  sou'west  by  sou'  ? 
240 


BROTHER    BATRACHIAN 

A  weather-cock,  with  half  the  pains, 
Can  nose  precise  a  dozen  rains. 
Be  seated.    Crony,  it  is  cold 
Way  down  there  in  your  stony  hold. 
Those  dungeon  vapors  —  don't  you  think 
They  make  the  spirit  sort  of  sink, 
Partic'larly  when  stingy  fate 
Too  long  withholds  the  cheery  mate  ? 
Let  go  in  peace  that  fiftieth  fly  ; 
Another  morsel,  and  you  die ! 
With  your  last  testament  unsigned, 
How  dare  you  gorge  yourself  stone-blind  ? 
A  risky  situation  that 
When  toads  are  twenty-odd  and  fat. 
Feel  nervous,  fellow  ?  Pshaw  !  lean  back, 
And  from  your  buff  aldermanic  sack 
Puff  out  the  truth  for  once  and  all : 
Your  mind  's  made  up  to  wed,  this  fall. 
Your  hand !  one  lone  toad  in  the  wall, 
Is  a  wart  heap,  no  toad  at  all. 
There  !  don't  repeat  that  deaconish  wink  ; 
I  know  exactly  what  you  think. 
Somebody  (not  far  off)  has  had 
His  little  frolics,  good  and  bad, 
241 


BROTHER    BATRACHIAN 

His  salad  antics  ;  dare  he  vow 
He  is  well  over 'em ?  How's  that  —  how? 
Warm  evenings,  just  outside  the  walk, 
Those  cooings  by  the  cabbage  stalk ! 
Droll  chap,  I  grant  you  are  old  and  fat, 
And  may  have  nieces  and  all  that ; 
But  when  with  her  you  claim  relation, 
Blood  ties  remotest  in  creation  — 
Monstrous  !  Old  chap,  it  would  n't  go  down 
Though  backed  by  every  toad  in  town. 
Sit  still,  no  offence  ;  I  can't  help  joking, 
The  moment  I  see  that  stub-nose  poking 
Into  the  light.  Tou  take  a  mate  — 
Prepost'rous !  Certainly  ;  too  late. 
At  your  age,  better  a  hangman's  halter 
Than    the   kind   one   is    led   with    to    the 

altar. 
Heaven    spare  the    storm    that   we   can't 

weather, 

We  two  old  jo  vies,  here  together. 
Heigh-ho,  the  gentle,  misty  rain 
Is  coming  down  the  hill  again. 
Did  you  perceive  just  what  was  meant 
'Bout  that  last  will  and  testament  ? 
242 


BROTHER   BATRACHIAN 

Grave  Bachelor  Batrachian,  pray, 
What  sense  in  sidling  off  that  way  ? 
Ridiculous  old  rogue  !  Turn  round  ; 
You  will  soon  enough  be  underground. 
No  other  eyes  see  well  as  mine 
How  bright  your  inner  riches  shine ; 
Long  may  they  live  when  you  are  dead : 
Leave  me  the  jewelin  your  head. 


243 


FRIEND    OPHIDIAN 

(To   JOHN    MUIR,  DISCOVERER   OF  THE   '«  BASHFUL 
RATTLESNAKE  ") 

CYLINDRICAL  thing 

Without  leg,  without  wing, 

Glazed  membrane  stuffed  with  motion, 

Give  ear  to  a  heretic's  notion. 

The  fact  that  you  crawl 

Is  no  reason  at  all 

For  sitfast  accusing 

And  head-pan  bruising ; 

A  walk  or  a  glide, 

A  stride  or  a  slide, 

A  trip  or  a  slip, 

A  skate  or  a  skip,  — 

Any  one  of  the  eight,  all  the  same  to  me, 

Sly,  india-rubber  iniquity ! 

I  can't  get  rid  of  an  early  suspicion 

That  we  harp   overhard  on  the  point  of 

position. 

I  think,  moreover,  in  your  shabbiest  deed, 
You  can  give  no  points  to  Adam's  seed. 
244 


FRIEND    OPHIDIAN 

We  all  have  our  lapses,  among  them  as 
serious 

As  those  at  your  threshold,  twister  myste 
rious. 

To  travel  way  back  to   the  start  of  the 
world, 

When  in  grasses   of  Eden   your  ancestor 
curled, 

Suppose  in  snakeskin  a  wretch  did  deceive 

Dear,  lily-lovely,  much-visible  Eve  ; 

In  their  own  skins,  to-day,  that's  just  what 
men  do, 

Then  put  the  whole  blame  (and  the  bludg 
eon)  on  you. 

Your  forefathers,  likely,  were  up  to  their 
tricks, 

But  the  fault,  after  all,   was  plainly   Old 
Nick's ; 

And  if  only  your  paths  are  sinlessly  slid, 

We  can  well   let  slide  what  your  grand- 
daddy  did. 

Poor   animate   string   with    the    glittering 
eye, 

At  peace  on  the  sunny  hillock  lie. 
245 


FRIEND   OPHIDIAN 

As  for  me  and  my  house,  we  will  never 

inveigh 
'Gainst  a  ribbon  that  harmlessly  garters  our 

way, 
Nor  with   cudgel   from   cactus  or   Calvin 

hewed, 

Fall  thwacking  its  limber  longitude. 
Forgive  us,  friend  Ophidian ; 
Bask  on  in  peace  meridian. 


246 


WHEN   LOVE  WAS   LORD 


"  'T  is  the  gods  ; 

.  .   .  the  secret  justice  of  the  gods 
Is  mingled  with  it."  —  PHILASTER 


PERSONS 

MENELAUS,  King  of  Sparta 

HELEN,  bis  ^ueen 
PARIS,  Prince  of  Ilion 
,  Serving- Woman  to  the  g)ueen 
COURTIERS  of  Sparta 
COURTIERS  of 


SCENE  :  SPARTA.    PALACE  OF  MENELAUS 
The  King  and  ^ueen  look  from  a  Window 

Helen 

More  hunters,  come  to  boast  and  chase  the 

boar 
With  Menelaus,  Sparta's  hunter-king. 

Menelaus 
And  Spartan  Helen's  husband. 

Helen 

Fame  does  not  trump  my  lord  as  Helen's 

husband ; 
Yon  comers  honor  Sparta's  hunter-king. 

Menelaus 

Came  they  because  I  wear  upon  my  breast 
The  pearl  of  all  the  seas  —  Nay,  why  so 
pale? 

Helen 

The  frown  is  gone  ;  with  it  my  silly  fright. 
251 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Menelaus 
The  leader  is  no  Greek.    Greeks  walk  the 

ground, 
While  he  my  prince,  there,  trips  it  on  the 

wind. 

Helen  (to  herself) 
No  Greek  indeed  ;  and  whose  the  flaming 

wings  ? 
Is  it  the  wand  of  Hermes?  Do  I  sleep? 


PALACE  HALL 
Menelaus  and  Courtiers.    Paris  and  Courtiers 

Paris 

King  Menelaus,  we  are  of  Ilion  all, 
Turned  from  our  errand.    Not  with  men  it 

lies, 
But  with  the  gods,  to  reach  the  wished-for 

shore ; 

Our  baffled  sails  were  set  for  Salamis. 
To  harbor  us  is  kindness  done  to  Thrace  ; 
252 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

The  where,  Poseidon  and  Apollo  helping, 
My  grandsire  builded,  old  Laomedon. 

Menelaus 

It  is  good  Priam's  son. 

There  's  none  but  knows  your  white-haired 
father  well, 

Knows  Hector,  too,  Queen  Hecabe's  first 
born  ; 

And  fortune  now  adds  Paris.  One  and  all, 

Most  welcome !  So.  Upon  the  morrow, 
friends, 

We  face  the  boar  together. 

Paris 

Gladly  we  bide  the  wheeling  of  a  sun  ; 
Longer  we  may  not  stay  our  urgent  jour 
ney. 

When  Heracles  laid  low  Laomedon, 
He  took  for  spoil  his  child,  Hesione, 
And  gave  her  to  his  friend,  Prince  Telamon 
Of  Salamis.    Prince  Telamon  now  dead, 
We,  here,  are  sent  to  say  to  Salamis, 
"  Priam  would  have  Hesione  at  home." 
253 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Menelaus 

*T  is  well.   We  feast  to-night,  friends,  hunt 

to-morrow. 
Thereafter,  at  your  pleasure,  sail  away, 

Commissioned  of  two  thrones  :  "  Ilion  and 
Sparta 

Demand  of  Salamis  King  Priam's  sister." 


BANQUET  HALL 
Menelaus  leads  in  Helen 

Menelaus 

It  were  no  banquet  not  set  off  with  Helen. 
Our  ways  are  freer,  Prince,  than  they  may  be 
At  Ilion.  —  Ere  we  fall  to  baser  joys, 
My  Queen,  welcome  with  me  old  Priam's 


Prince  Paris  ;  fated,  on  the  hour  he  goes, 
To  take  with  him  the  captive  heart  of  Sparta 

Mthra  (to  herself) 

If  my  old  eyes  can  see,  it  will  be  so  ; 
If  my  old  hands  can  help,  it  shall  be  so. 
254 


WHEN   LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Paris 

Most  gracious  lady,  light  of  Lacedaemon, 
In  honest  Sparta  none  may  hide  his  thought. 

JEthra  (to  herself) 

Tush,    Paris !    Aphrodite's    thought,    not 
yours. 

Paris 

To  tell  my  thought  I  first  must  tell  the  tale 
The  thought  was  born  of.  JT  is  about  a  lad, 
A  shepherd  lad  who  watched  my  father's 

flocks, 

Feeding  upon  a  slope  of  piny  Ida. 
To  him  Olympus  sent,  one  summer  day, 
Three   goddesses.     Heaven  had,   'twould 

seem,  no  god 

Dare  say  which  was  the  fairest  of  the  three, 
And  it  must  ask  the  silly  shepherd  lad. 
The  Fair  Ones  found  him  by  Scamander's 

bank  — 

Scamander,  yellow  as  his  own  wild  locks, 
Stained  with  the  sunshine  —  where  he  sat, 

and  played 

255 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

As  blithe  a  pipe  as  ever  lifted  foot 
Of  fawn  or  forest  nymph  dancing  to  Pan. 
The  first  to  speak  was  she  that  sits  by  Zeus, 
The  Bride  of  Heaven  :  "  Shepherd,  we  hear 

that  you, 

Taught  of  the  lovely  things  you  live  among, 
Wise  Nature's  gentle  confidant,  can  tell 
Of  beauteous  things  which  is  most  beautiful. 
Take  you  this  apple,  boy,  and  give  it  her 
You  find  the  fairest  here."  "  Take  it "  — 

't  was  now 

The  virgin  against  whose  ivory  side  the  lance 
Of  love  is  shattered  —  "  take  it,  boy,  and  give 
It  to  the  fairest.  We  stand  upon  the  choice." 
The  pastor  lad  stood  gazing ;  dazed,  but  bent 
To  do  his  best ;  when  the  other  —  she  that 

comes, 
And  it  is  summer  there  —  speechless,  drew 

nigh. 

He  looked  on  her,  nor  knew  he  any  more 
Until  he  saw  the  apple  in  her  hand. 

Mthra  (to  herself) 

Who  had  done  otherwise,  let  him  step  forth. 
256 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Helen 
It  is  a  pretty  tale;  but,  Prince,  your  thought? 

Paris 
Poor  silly,  silly  lad  ! 

Helen 
I  think  his  elders  had  not  hit  it  better. 

Paris  , 

He  stopt  not   with    the   deed,  but  would 

stout  hold, 
When  ripe  his  years  were  grown,  that  he 

had  looked 

Upon  the  fairest  shape  of  Earth  or  Heaven. 
So  late  he  learns  the  cheat. 

Menelaus 

Though  Zeus  himself  were  for  it,  not  an 

hour 
I  'd    let    him    loose    among    the    listening 

girls.  — 
Dread  Prince,  see  that  you  bide  within  my 

walls. 

257 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

jEthra  (to  herself) 
Would  I  were  sure  of  fortune  as  of  that ! 

Group  of  Courtiers  in  another  part  of  the  room 

First  Spartan 

Come,  now,  have  Ilion's  meadows  all  the 

bees, 
And  has  your  prince  drained  every  hive  ? 

First  Trojan 

That's  Paris. 

Second  Trojan 

But  sweets  are  his  that  from  his  cradle  mates 
With  Cebren  nymphs,  and,  counting  up  the 

days 
And  nights,  so  tells  the  number  of  his  loves. 

First  Spartan 

Yearning  as  Helen's  look  was  not  her  own 
That  out  of  Heaven  leaned,  and  straight 

was  lost 

To  it  in  shadows  of  the  Latmian  bower. 
258 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Another  Spartan 
Nor  he  that  drew  her  down  knew  sweeter 

dream 
Than  folds,  now,  languid  Paris. 

Second  Trojan 

Paris  to-night 

Is  not  the  Paris  of  to-morrow.    Then, 
The  hunt  up,  you  will  see  another  man. 
Enough.    The  queen  retires,  led  lingering 

off 

In  loveliness  which,  after  all,  goes  not, 
But,  like  to  summer  day,  disputes  the  dark. 

A  Spartan 

Now  to  our  cups  and  pleasures  meet  for  men, 
Then  sleep,  if  time  be  left ;  and  when  first 

snort 
The  horses  of  the  morning,  for  the  hills  ! 


2.59 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Paris  alone  on  his  couch,  after  the  banquet.    /Ethra 
approaches  him 

Mthra 
No  nymph,  love-led  from  lorn  Scamander's 

bank, 
Seeks,  now,  the  couch  of  Paris.    Nymph 

nor  maid 
I  am  ;   only  a  woman,  ^Ethra  old. 

Paris 
The  hour  invites  both  youth  and  age  to 

sleep. 

Mthra 
Youth  sleep  —  sleep  now  !    Youth,   youth 

was  mine,  too,  once. 

Under  a  cliff,  once,  was  I  secret  bathing, 
When  from  his  palace,  choking  all  the  deep 
Off  rocky  Imbros,  drave  Poseidon  forth 
His  horses  golden-hoofed  and  brazen-maned, 
Dashing   toward    wonted    pleasure  -  haunts 

ashore. 
His  fierce  glance  pierced  to  me  ;  he  reached, 

and  off 

260 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

His  chariot  whirled  us.  Ay,  Poseidon  't  was. 
Marry,  what  had  he  for  his  amorous  pains  ? 
Something,  I  wot.   Yet  did  he  pluck  a  weed ; 
The  water-god  did  pluck  a  weed,  I  say, 
Held  up  beside  the  flower  in  reach  of  Paris. 

Paris 
Woman,  I  am  the  guest  of  Menelaus. 

ALthra 

Has  love  become  so  poor ! 

When  I  was  young  love  lorded  all  the  world. 

There  was  no  king  but  love,  no  queen  but 

beauty, 
In  days  when  virgins  closed  with  kings  and 

gods, 
And  babes  came  of  it  worth  the  weight  and 

pain. 

Paris 
Woman,  I  am  his  guest. 

(Aphrodite  appears  and  vanishes) 
It  was  the  look,  the  very  look  she  had, 
Smiling,  on  piny  Ida. 
261 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

jEthra 
How  came  he  by  her  ?  The  prize  that  felled 

all  Greece 

At  Sparta's  feet,  how  was  it  won,  at  last  ? 
How  came  the  wooers  up  who,  side  by  side 
With  Menelaus,  chafed  the  very  walls 
That  shut  us  in,  to-night,  shouldering  to 
ward  Helen  ? 

You  picture  gentle  gardeners,  none  so  rude 
Would  pluck,  ere  it  should  flower,  love's 

loveliest  bud. 

I  tell  you,  I  who  faced  them,  man  by  man, 
They  were  so  many  bulls, 
Which  locked  their  horns  together,  pawed 

the  ground 

As  they  would  plow  away  Eurotas'  bank, 
Bellow  strong  Sparta  down,  till  one  of  all 
Should  lure  the  heavenly  heifer  from  her 

hills. 

It  thaws  the  winter  in  my  veins  to  think  on  't ; 
And   your    young    blood,  young    summer 

blood,  instead 

Of  throbbing  hot  to  valor's  fiery  top, 
Does  clot  and  scum  in  the  dull  ooze  of  sleep. 
262 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Paris  (mutters,  his  mind  returning  to  the  vision) 
Hot  as  my  thought  plunges  no  bolt  of  Jove, 
Driven,  hissing,   down   the   hollow  of  the 
night. 

jEthra 

They  were  not  bulls  ?  Well,  make  them 
hunter-kings. 

And  what  did  they,  the  gallant  hunter- 
kings  ? 

They  ran  her,  like  a  wild  thing,  to  the  hole. 

He  won  her,  has  her  yet  —  and  has  her  not. 

Paris  (rousing) 

Her  heart  shall  answer  that :  she  loves  the 

king. 

JEthra 

With  but  a  glance  young  Paris  can  see  more 
Than  jEthra  with  her   years,  and    all  her 

days 
And  nights  of  mother's  ward. 

Paris 

She  loves  the  king. 

263 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Mthra 

Ay,  since  who  has  her  heart,  the  same  is  king. 

Paris 
She  loves  her  lord. 

Mthra 

Ay,  since  who  has  her  love 
Is  so  her  lord.  —  Didst  ever  know  a  nurse 
So  hurried  she  came  off  without  her  story  ? 
You  and  your  train  had  just  come  in  the  hall, 
And  Menelaus  gone  to  greet  you,  when, 
As  wont,  I  went  to  bind  the  darling's  hair. 
Upon  her  couch  I  found  her.  And  asleep  ? 
Asleep  she  was,  that  soon  ;  yet  would  she 

smile, 

Ay,  speak,  at  times.    Certes  it  was  a  sleep  ; 
For  when  she  woke  she  yet  half-stayed  in  it, 
With  murmurs  as  of  bird-tones  far  away, 
Afloat  upon  the  gloaming.    So  I  found 
Her  when  you  had  come  in.    Well,  while  I 

robed 

The    child,    to-night,    she     plied    me,  - 
how 
264 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

May  mortals  tell  when  truly  't  is  a  god ; 
Whether  it  be  a  dream,  or  they  in  truth 
Look  on  a  very  god  ?  "  I  answered  her, 
It  was  a  thing  to  learn  of  one's  own  self, 
Not  to  be  taught.  "  I  think,  I  think,"  she 

said  — 

Remember  she  was  not  yet  well  awake  — 
"  I  think  the  prince  is  — followed  by  a  god 
dess!" 

Paris 

Go  !    Rather  dreams  that  rack  the  souls  in 

Hell. 
Send  them ;  but  speak  no  further. 

JEthra  (to  herself) 

'T  is  enough. 
[Exit  JEthra 

Paris 

O   terrible  goddess  !    Thou  hast  kept  thy 
word. 


265 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Helen  at  her  loom,  weaving  and  singing 

Helen 

Softly,  shepherd,  watch  your  flock, 
They  must  let  the  baby  rock,  — 
By-a-by,  by-a-by  ; 
Keep  the  dreams  back,  every  one, 
Till  the  journey  is  begun. 
By-a-baby,  by-a-by. 

Not  till  baby  floats  away, 

Pretty  shepherd,  let  them  stray,  — 

By-a-baby,  by-a-by  ; 

Then  around  him  let  them  play  ; 

Hark  you,  shepherd,  what  I  say. 

By-a-baby,  by-a-by. 

Careless  shepherd,  keep  them  back, 
One  is  coming,  white  and  black,  — 
By-a-baby,  by-a-by ; 
Never,  never  let  him  go 
Who  has  spot  upon  his  snow ; 
By-a-baby,  by-a-by. 
266 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Softly,  shepherd,  soft,  I  say, 
Not  till  baby  floats  away,  — 
By-a-baby,  by-a-by. 
Ah,  the  dreamkins,  well  they  know  ! 
Loose  them,  shepherd,  let  them  go. 
All  alone  are  you  and  I. 
(Enter  Menelaus,  returned  from  the  hunt) 
My  lord  safe  home  again! 

(She  throws  a  cloth  over  the  loom) 

Menelaus 

Home,  Dearest,  home. 
(He  steps  toward  the  loom) 

Helen  (holding  him  back) 
Not  yet ;  the  charm  's  at  work. 

Menelaus 

Ay.    Tell  me,  then, 
What  song  you  sang. 

Helen 

A  magic  air  it  was, 

A  sleep-song  ^Ethra  taught  me  long  ago, 
267 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

A  lullaby  the  mother  sings  at  Athens  ; 

I  sing  it,  and  I  am  a  child  again. 

But 't  is  an  ugly  gash  upon  your  arm  ! 

I  hope  you  pricked  the  monster  with  such 

pain 
He  set  the  hills  a-howl. 

Menelaus 
The  tusk  that  dealt  me  this  was  grown  in 

Thrace,  — 
Paris'  taper  hand. 

Helen 

The  prince  !    I  'd  risk  my  naked  arm  'gainst 
his. 

Menelaus 

Nay,  boast  it  not!  the  courage  is  too  com 
mon. 

Helen 

Dreamy,  unbearded  Paris  ! 

Menelaus 

Ay,  Troy's  Apollo,  with  the  woman's  wrist 

And  ringlets.    Never  more  misleading  man 

268 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Did  ramp  Taygetus'  lairs.  To  see  him  lilt 
Along  the  hills,  swinging  this  way  and  that 
As  though  a  zephyr  stirred  him,  then  the 

stand  ! 
The   boar  stood  but  a  wink  at  bay.    He 

charged. 
Mine,  surely  mine  !    What  happened?    In 

the  nick 
A  spear  came  crying  from  behind,  grazed 

here, 

Along  its  victor  way,  and  Troy's  the  glory. 
Beware  of  beardless  princes  ! 

Helen 
Let  him  weigh  anchor ;  Sparta  is  not  safe. 

Menelaus 
To-morrow  I  set  out,  but  Paris  stays. 

Helen 

I  hoped  you  would  deny  Idomeneus, 
And  let  the  restless  Cretans  chase  alone. 
One  day   the  king  will  hunt  one  day  too 
many. 

269 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

(Enter  Mtbrd) 

Menelaus 
'  Tis  one  of  ^Ethra's    croakings.    See,  she 

comes. 
One  has  his  friends,  and  has  one  friend  of 

all; 

I  never  can  refuse  Idomeneus. 
Host  with  full  hand  and  free  our  Thracian 

friends. 

Mthra  (to  herself) 

An  she  fail  there,  Olympus  is  untopt 
And  all  the  lofty  gods  are  jostled  down. 


Helen  at  the  loom,  jEtkra  by  her  side 

Mthra 

Manless  once  more.    Hey  day !    it  's  hunt 

again, 

And  Sparta  wantons  in  her  widow's  weeds. 
What  said   his  Hunter    Highness    to  the 

weaving  ? 

270 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Helen 
'T  is  but  begun  ;  I  could  not  show  it  so. 

Mthra 

The  posture  is  a  god's  ;  and  that  above 
His  head  may  grow  into  a  goddess'  wing. 
A  jump,  and  lo,  your  skill  is  at  the  pitch  ; 
A    wondrous    sudden    mount.    But    one 

power,  lass, 
Can  push  so  fast. 

Helen 
It  may  not  be  the  prince. 

JEthra 

A  hunter-king  with  plumy  helmet  on  ! 

Helen 

A  little  kindness  for  the  kindly  king. 
'T  is  true  he  holds  you  here ;  but  why  you 

know. 
The  gain  is  mine,  not  his. 


271 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Mthra 

I  will  repay  him  ;  crown  shall  answer  crown. 

Remember  I  too  had,  one  time,  a  kingdom. 

But  .^Ethra  —  let  her  pass.    It 's  Helen  now ; 

The  gods  (and  I)  are  busy  now  with  Helen. 

How  came  she  here  ?  Is  she  the  king's  or 
love's  ? 

Let  these  walls  speak,  what  would  the  an 
swer  be  ? 

In  at  that  window  swept  the  panting  swan 

To  Leda  s  lap.   Zeus  had  his  hour  oflove> 

That  love  might  be  again  ;  and  Helen  was. 

Is  she  the  king's  or  love's  ?  Love's  ;  and  he 
comes ! 

(Enter  Paris) 

Paris 
Fluttering  'twixt  basket,  harpstrings  and  the 

web, 
Fancy,  and  dare  she  build  in  rigorous  Sparta? 

Helen  (hurriedly  covering  the  loom) 
Perchance;  but  he  whose  arm  had  might 
against 

272 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

My  lord's  would  fright  the  younglings  from 
the  nest. 

Mthra  (to  herself) 

That  will  he,  and  thence  lure  the  mother-bird. 

[Exit  £thra 
Paris 

Who  is  the  woman  with  Queen  Helen  so 

much, 
This  moment  gone  ? 

Helen 

Born  to  a  prophet-king, 
jEthra,  a  slave  at  Sparta,  was  a  queen 
At  home.    The  chance  of  battle  lodged  her 

here, 
And  here  she  bides.    Myself  would  set  her 

free  ; 
But  since   the   king's  will   runs  the   other 

way, 
She  stays  to  serve  me. 

Paris 

Can  you  wholly  trust  her  ? 
273 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Helen 
If  one  may  trust  the  love  that  serves  too  well. 

Paris 
Now  first  I   learn  that  love  may  love  too 

well. 
Queen  Helen,  fate's  hour  has  struck,  and  I 

must  speak. 
As  gods  and  all  men  know,  none  sees  your 

face 

And  loves  you  not.  I,  Paris,  made  for  love, 
The  last  of  men  could  look  into  this  heaven, 
Look  once,  and  be  thereafter  what  I  was. 

(Aphrodite  appears  and  vanishes) 

Helen  (to  Aphrodite) 

Nay,  goddess  ;  I  have  yielded  oft,  not  know 
ing. 
Nay ;  I  am  stronger  now. 

Paris 

'T  is  not  the  time 

Or  place  for  more,  but  one  thing  must  I 
know : 

274 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Part  we  to  meet  again,  or  meet  no  more  ? 
To-night  my  canvas  fills  for  Salamis. 

Helen  (to  herself) 

I  hear  low  music,  sweeter  than  the  brook, 
Sweeter  than  evening  in  the  summer  leaves. 
To  Salamis —  What  was  it  that  he  said  ? 

(to  Paris) 

The  king's  words   were,  "  I  go,  but   Paris 
stays." 

Paris 

My  men  are  in  the  boats. 

Helen 
The  nights  are  many,  many  ;  why  to-night  ? 

Paris 

My  men  are  in  the  boats  ;  and  I  must  know 
If  now  they  drag  me  hence,  drooped  as  the 

pine 

That,  blasted,  hangs  upon  the  windy  cliff, 
Nor  lifts  his  pithless  arms ;  or  if  I  go 
In    my  love's    might,   soon  to  return,  and 

speak,  — 

275 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Name,  here,  the  terms  of  love, 

And  make  it  good  at  point  of  Trojan  swords. 

(Enter  jEtkra) 

Helen 
You  said  to-night,  and  something  after  that. 

Mthra  (to  herself) 

Out  on  the  goddess  !  she  has  flown  again 
Before  my  darling,  blinding  her  sweet  eyes. 

(She  hurries  past  the  loom,  pulling  off  the 
curtain) 

Poor  little  Queen  ! 

Helen 
I  am  over  it,  good  ^Ethra. 

(Exit  JEthra,  while  Helen  rouses  to  find  Paris 
gazing  at  the  figure  in  the  loom) 

I  meant,  believe  me,  none  should  ever  know. 

Paris 

Down,  down,   my  heart !  be   ironed,  dun 
geoned  deep, 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Lest    you   should,   breaking    through    my 

breast,  leap  forth 

To  hers,  and,  summing  that  wild  liberty, 
Dash  to  it,  and  both,  in  love  's  unbroken 

shock, 
Be  struck  to  nothing.   If  love's  word  you 

speak, 

Let  her  not  hear  your  thunder  in  my  veins  ; 
But  softly  speak  as  if  the  shadow  spoke 
She  here  has  wrought,  the  lover  in  the  loom. 

Helen 

I  pray  you,  woo  me  not,  but  teach  me,  Paris  ! 
Tell,  tell  me  what  I  do,  and  why  I  do  it ! 
A  child  am  I ;  as  much  a  child  as  on 
The  day  they  seized  me,  braided  up  my 

hair, 
My  long  bright  hair,  the  plaything  of  the 

winds 
Which  loved  to   chase  me   on  the   sunny 

hills,— 
Bound  me,   and,  there   among  the  valley 

flowers, 

On  thickest  bed  of  all  the  sweet  wild  lives, 
277 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Would   spill  my  blood  into  their  piteous 

faces. 

And  so  lift  off  the  plague  upon  our  land ; 
As   much  a  child  as   when  mad  Theseus 

haled 

Me  from  the  Temple,  castanet  in  hand, 
A-dancing  with  the  children  —  dragged  me 

thence 

To  weep,  a  captive,  in  his  Attica. 
./Ethra  can  tell  you  all. 
A  child  am  I ;  alas  !  have  ever  been 
A  child,  a  cast  leaf  on  the  uncaring  wind. 

Paris 
Queen    Helen  —  soon    must    I    speak  the 

dearer  name  — 
Against  the  sovereign  will  clutched  on  us, 

now, 
We   both   are    children.    Nothing   may   I 

teach. 

Helen 

Teach   me,   my   Master,   Lover-Lord,  my 
King. 

278 


WHEN   LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Paris 
I  may  not  teach ;  but  what  love  told  may 

tell 
Again :  not  in  my  own  sole  might  I  come. 

Helen 
The  Queen  of  Love  came  with  you  when 

you  came. 
Her  now  I  feel,  her  breath  upon  my  face. 

Paris 

Ay,  she  that  promised  me.  — 

Whisper    me,    Mother;     give    me    fitting 

words !  — 

The  tale  I  strove  to  tell  you  when  we  met  — 
My  words  killed  by  your  beauty,  slaying 

speech 

And  soul  at  once  —  wanted  the  happy  end, 
The  wondrous  promise  of  the  Queen  of 

Love. 
You  know  it,  now.    Oh,  sweeter  than  her 

breath, 
Flower-burdened,  were  her  words  !  "  Dearer 

to  me 

279 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

She  is  than  dearest  child  to  mortal  mother. 
She  waits  ;  her  loveliness,  her  love  is  yours." 

Helen  (to  Aphrodite} 

Forgive  one  all  unworthy  of  thy  care ; 
Goddess,  forgive  !    Thou  knowest  what  has 
been. 

Paris 

Turn  to  the  past,  my  Love,  my  peerless 

Love ; 

Bring  back  the  time  gone  by,  the  while  I  set 
Against  that  dark  this  dawn  and  the  day  to 

be. 

Helen 

The  past  is  far  away,  now ;  and  so  near 
But  yesterday !    Time   and   the  world,  all 

changed. 

And  I  ?  The  driven  leaf  is  a  moment  lodged  ; 
Not  still,  but  touched  with  rest,  trembling 

toward  quiet. 

Paris 

You,  Oreades,  who  hush  the  troubled  hills, 
And    lay  the  unbroken    charm   on  Dian's 
groves ; 

280 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

You,   Nereides,   who    gleam   in   the  green 

sea, 
And  watch  and  count  the  stars  from  Thetis' 

towers ; 
You  whose  pure  hands  unlatch  the  skyey 

windows, 
And  loose  the  sun  and  rain,  and  wake  the 

world 
From  her  white  sleep,  calling  the  blossoms 

up,— 
Come  hither,  sweetest  Hours  and  sweetest 

Airs, 
And  serve  her,  sweeter,  fairer  than  you   all. 

•   Helen 

Say  on,  my  Lover-Lord,  nor  let  me  wake. 
Upon  a  blissful  stop,  a  venomed  voice 
Crawled  in ;  but  gashed  itself  with  its  own 

fangs, 
And  writhing,  slowly  died. 

Paris 

Wake  not ;  sleep  on.   This  kiss,  though  you 
slept  sound 

281 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

As  any  sleep  in  graves,  this  must  you  feel; 
Must  feel,  and  know  it  mine  — 

Helen 

^Ethra  !  Paris  !  Oh !  Oh!  Where  have  I  been, 
And  am  come  back  to  this ! 

Paris 
Swift  horror  blenches  yet  this  whitest  brow! 

Helen 

A  file  of  ghosts  —  'T  is  passing,  gliding  by  1 
Dim  shapes  of  men  yet  dwelling  in  bright 

Hellas  — 
I  know  them ;  once  before  they  came,  no 

phantoms, 
Oath-bound,  each  one,  to  take  me  home, 

his  bride. 

Paris 

There  's  danger  ?  At  a  sign  from  me  my  men 
Will  quit  the  boats,  dash  hither  from  the 

strand, 

And  straightway  will  we  tame  the  haughty 
ghosts. 

282 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Helen 
Spotty  their  corslets,  their  helmets  all  ablaze ! 

Paris 

Dye  yet  their  reddest  blood  with  red  of  Hell, 
And  I  will  wade  it. 

Helen 

Late  I  wore  that  thing, 
The  girdle  in  his  great  unkingdomed  hand. 

Paris  (clasping  Helen) 

Heaven's  hand  or  Hell's,  this  will  I  snatch 
from  it ; 

So  trophied,  point  the  proud  ship-beaks  to 
ward  Ilion. 

(Enter  JEthra) 

Mthra 

Hush,  silly  children  !    You  have  slept  and 

waked, 

A  way  all  children  have ;  it  is  but  nature. 
I  am  a  mother,  children,  Theseus'  mother ; 
283 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Two  golden  heads  make  not  this  old  white 

head. 
Hush,  pretty  babes  !  my  hand  will  lead  you 

home. 

Helen  (A  sudden  light  envelops  her  head) 

My  peace   returns.     No   more   I    fear  the 

ghosts ; 
But    you,   fierce,  terrible   Paris,   make   me 

tremble. 

Hear  me ;  let  not  the  dear  peace  go  again. 
Hear,  Paris,  hear ;  love  has  no  further  toil. 
If  I  be  not  most  honorably  won, 
Then  love  's  a  liar,  and  there  is  no  truth ; 
But  if  true  love  speak  truth,  know  I  am 

won 
Most  fairly.     And   if  my  wish   have   any 

weight, 
And  you  would  sometime  take  me,  take  me 

now. 

ALthra 

Mad   boy,  begone !    Stay  not  to  face  the 
king. 

284 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

Paris 

This  head,  this  golden  head  a  mark  for  scorn ! 
Gods,  gods,  the  while  I  speak  how  bright  it 
grows ! 

Helen 

If  scorn  do  point  at  me,  't  will  point  because 
Of  what  has  been  before  this  honest  hour. 
Go  I  or  stay,  I  am  not  his,  but  yours ; 
The  grim    ghosts  know   I   never  was  the 

king's. 
The  shame,  the  scorn,  is  hers  who  falsely 

stays, 
Not  hers  who  goes,  bold  to  be  false  no 

longer. 

Mthra 

No  other  logic,  Paris,  straight  as  love's. 
My  own  boy  Theseus  fell  upon  her,  once, 
And  plucked  her  from  the  Temple.    That 

was  robbery ; 

The  high  gods  bred  and  held  her  for  another. 
Love's  day  is  come ;  and  if  you  take  her 

not, 

285 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

This  night,  from  damned  Sparta,  I  say  now, 
To  your  pale  face,  I  will  myself  set  out 
With  her,  alone,  and  go  and  stand  with  her 
Before  old  Priam  ;  nor  tell  him  half  the  story 
Ere  he  shall  shake  you  off,  ay,  brand  his 

darling 
The  very  basest  of  his  Thracian  slaves. 


Night.  Paris  and  Helen  are  engaged  in  a  finger- 
game,  which  Helen  invented  to  play  with 
Paris.  JEtbra  watches  them,  herself  unob 
served. 

Helen 

Could  I  but  learn  how  dull  you  are  at  learn 
ing* 

I  should  not  try  to  teach  you.  You  have 
lost 

A  twenty  kisses  in  as  many  minutes. 

Paris 

Is  this  the  finger  ? 

286- 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

Helen 

That 's  the  very  one 


You  lost  on  last. 


Paris 

Then  will  I  play  it — so. 


Helen 
You  kissed  before  you  played. 


Paris 
Well,  now  I  have  played. 


Helen 
And  kissed,  too,  out  of  turn. 


Paris 

This  takes  it  back. 


Helen 
You  cannot  take  it  back. 


Paris 

No  ?   Then  here  't  is. 

287 


WHEN    LOVE    WAS    LORD 

Helen 

I  say  again,  it  is  a  finger-game, 
Not  played  with  lips  —  Was  that  the  sentry's 
signal  ? 

Paris 
I  will  look,  for  one  more  kiss. 

Helen 

I  will  look  myself. 

\Helen  leaves  the  room,  Paris  following 

Paris 
'Tis  a  kind  service;  I  will  kiss  you  for  it. 

Mthra  (following  at  a  distance) 
Where  now 's  the  king,  and  where  is  Salamis, 
Where  aught  my  pretty  ones  so  hung  on 

once? 

All  clean  forgot ;  the  goddess  has  her  way. 
But  it  is   worth  my    woes,  worth   all   my 

bonds, 

To  look  on  that !    Antic  as  nimblest  fawns, 
288 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS    LORD 

They  frisk  it  to  the  chariot.  — Sweetest  joys 
Of  Aphrodite,  she  will  tend  you  well. 
Soon  as  you  mount,  the  waiting  mist  will 

fold, 
And   shut  her  darlings   from   the  peeping 

Spartans.  — 
Feast,  JEthra,  your  old  eyes ;  't  is  a  brave 

charm  ! 
No    dog   may  howl,   no  night    thing   stir 

abroad  ; 
The  stallions,  wont  to  neigh  and  prance  as 

though 
They  rolled   their  wild   eyes  on   Aurora's 

mares, 
Now  barely  move  their  shining  sides   for 

breath, 
And    every    hoof  sucks    to    the    stubborn 

ground. 
The  king's  fool-slaves  have  I  drugged  well 

with  wine ; 

They  will  not  wake  till  we  be  far  at  sea. 
Boy  Paris  bade  me  go,  and  have  my  free 
dom  ; 

I  will  not  take  it  till  I  see  my  bird 
289 


WHEN    LOVE   WAS   LORD 

In  her  white  cage,  all  safe  in  strong-walled 

Ilion. 
Dark  are  the  ways  of  men  ;  most  brief  are 

joys, 

And  of  brief  joys  is  love,  alas  !  the  briefest. 
Love's  hour  is  brief,  but  O  that  hour,  that 

hour ! 
My  dears,  who  dream  so  deep,  must  wake 

again ; 
Tempest  shall  drive,  the  shock  of  vengeful 

war 
Shake  down  dream-builded  bliss.    So  let  it 

be. 

When  next  a-hunting  goes  the  hunter-king, 
The  din  shall  run  the  circuit  of  the  seas. 
Heaven  wills  it ;  let  it  be.    Farewell,  fare 
well ! 
Farewell     to     Lacedaemon  !  —  Remember, 

gods, 
That  I,  old  /Ethra,  stood  with  ye  in  this. 


290 


INDEX  TO   THE  FIRST   LINES 


INDEX   TO   THE    FIRST    LINES 


A  DIM  lithe  shape  moves  over  the 

mesa,  151. 

A  flame  —  an  instant,  secret,  mys 
tic  thing,  28. 
A  gray  old  orchard,  scarred  as  by 

battle,  237. 
A  lass  am  I,  and  I  wait  my  day, 

213. 
A  lone  soul  came  to  Heaven's  hard 

gate,  93. 
A  priest  of  Heaven,  some  gracious 

hour,  164. 
A  sound  as  of  the  falling  leaves, 

128. 
A  sprig  of  mint  by  the  wayward 

brook,  185. 
A  sunbeam  kissed  a  river-ripple, 

—  "Aye,  168. 

A  voice  oft  speaks,  and  saith,  167. 
A  webby  mead  with  diamonds  set, 

188. 
A  wind,  whence  no  man  knows, 

192. 

Ah,  Hope,  no  more,  88. 
Along  all  ways  the  path  of  triumph 

lies,  170. 

Answer  the  cabin  and  the  hunting- 
shed,  1 80. 

As  out  of  the  dark  the  stars,  100. 
As  the  shadows  glide,  216. 
At  last,  somewhere,  some  happy 

day,  5. 


Beckoned  the  Comer  Dim,  101. 
Bring,   bluebird,   from   the   blue 
above,  187. 


Broad,   squat,   flat-nosed,   thick- 
lipped  and  onion-eyed,  78. 

Came  a  little  lonely  thought,  37. 
Color  in  the  lilacs,  212. 
Constant  mites  that  briskly  whip, 

1 60. 
Courtier;  in  unpretending  dress, 

109. 
Cylindrical  thing,  244. 

Darkness,  grow  and  blacker  fold, 

149. 

Daylong  a  craven  cry  goes  up,  48. 
Dear  buds  of  flesh  and  blood,  99. 
Drops  of  summer  rain,  219. 

Ere  roves  the  bee  or  cometh  forth 
the  flower,  194. 

Falling  all  the  night-time,  142. 
Fearest  the  shadow?     Keep  thy 

trust,  175. 
Few  listened  to  the  lonely  singer's 

lay,  42. 

First  of  the  deedful,  giant  few,  62. 
For  beauty  and  for  gladness  of  the 

days,  174. 

For  once,  old  ebon  buccaneer,  153. 
Freedom!  have  we  won  it  yet,  70. 
From  the  withered,  bitter  ground,- 


Golden  hair  and  eyes  of  blue,  199. 


Hark,  hark!  150. 
293 


INDEX   TO    THE    FIRST    LINES 


Hast  heard  those  voices  low  that 

fare,  98. 
Hast  seen  the  morn,  the  first  light 

in  his  eyes,  23. 
Hast  thou  been  down  into  the  deep 

of  thought,  45. 
He  knows  her  voice,  he  heeds  her 

call,  164. 
He  shed  no  tears,  he  made  no 

moan,  91. 
He    that    engenders    had    called 

forth  the  world,  176. 
Hear  fancy's  song,  116. 
Hearken  Summer's  song,  139. 
Heigh-ho,  a  drowsy,  drippy  day, 

207. 
Herald    of    blissful    summertide 

come  I,  1 88. 
Hid  ways  have  winds  that  lightly 

shake,  135. 
Hill  to  vale,  with  measures  gay, 

204. 
His  people  called,  and  forth  he 

came,  64. 

Ho,  hermit  of  the  cellar  wall,  240. 
Holy,  Holy  !  —  In  the  hush,  189. 
How  many  happy  summers  yet, 

38. 

I  had  a  playmate  when  a  boy,  97. 
I  honor  him  who  needs  must  chop 

the  stone,  184. 
I  keep  thy  memory  as  the  hilltops 

hold,  27. 
I  'm  just  about  the  color  of  mud, 

J59- 
I  need  not  hear  the  moan  they 

make,  89. 
I  read  once  more  this  care-worn, 

patient  face,  76. 
I  saw  a  wild  bird  on  a  rock,  90. 
I   sing  home   songs,   tuning  the 

strings,  16. 


I  strive  to  keep  me  in  the  sun, 

10. 

I  think  it  better  to  believe,  217. 
I  thought  it  spoke  to  me,  56. 
I  trust  in  what  the  love-mad  mavis 

sings,  3. 

I  would  have  a  poet's  book,  203. 
I  would  rather  be,  15. 
If  reign  you  will  in  Havilah,  71. 
If  the  year  be  at  her  Spring,  215. 
If  yonder  lie  another,  better  land, 

183. 
In  the  poet's  world,  shamed  is  his 

art,  46. 

It  is  now  forty  years  ago,  80. 
It  was  in  a  still  place  of  graves, 

104. 

Knitting  is  the  maid  o'  the  kitchen, 
Milly,  227. 

Liquid  as  lies  the  wave  the  hilltop 

lies,  33. 

Lo,  it  locks,  8 1. 
Lost  Joy,  who  now  is  at  your  side, 

1 66. 
Love  came,  one  night,  his  wings 

all  wet,  206. 
Love,  I  would  have  thee  as  the 

snow  is,  white,  26. 
Love's  lips  or  the  betrayer's  kiss, 

1 68. 
Low  at  my  feet  is  stretched  the 

lordly  vale,  182. 

Marry,  sirs,  here's  merry  greeting, 

163. 
Men  hope  and  labor  and  despair, 

«93- 

Men  scorn  them,  but  the  wiser 

day,  120. 
Must  be  God's  warders  hearken 

every  sigh,  172. 


294 


INDEX   TO   THE    FIRST   LINES 


Mute  the  ferny  woodland  ways, 

123. 
My  books,  you  have  made  light 

the  heavy  time,  181. 
My  breath  is  on  the  mountain 

pine,  193. 
My  heart,  you  happy  wandered, 

3°- 

My  lot  with  man  is  cast,  194. 
My  song,  you  need  be  neither  long 

nor  loud,  163. 

Nature    reads    not    our    labels, 

"great"  and  "small,"  66. 
Night   strengthens   star  by   star, 

1 66. 
No  help  in  all  the  stranger-land, 

105. 

No  hue  of  early  Spring,  106. 
Not  a  thing  that  lives  and  moves, 

19. 

Not  in  the  time  of  pleasure,  87. 
Now  is  Light,  sweet  mother,  down 

the  west,  132. 

Oft  I  call,  he  nothing  hears,  100. 
Old  Israel's  readers  of  the  stars, 

47- 

On  and  on,  in  sun  and  shade,  85. 
On  Nature's  round,  21. 
On  the  south  winds  a  flurry,  221. 
One  brave  look,  holding  hers,  41. 
One  comes  with  kind,  capacious 

hold,  92. 

One  whitest  lily,  reddest  rose,  31. 
Or  in  the  East  or  in  the  West,  205. 
Out  on  a  worW  that  has  run  to 

weed,  50. 

Plato  come  back  to  turn  a  Yankee 

phrase,  77. 
Pure  spirit,  pure  and  strangely 

beautiful,  94. 


Revere  thy  roof;  life  has  no  more, 
171. 

Shalt  thou  be  beauty's  dream,  her 

sweetest  thought,  32. 
She  lives,  she  lives  up  in  the  hills, 

34- 
Slow  trembles   from   her   envied 

crown,  191. 

Soft  follower  of  the  early  star,  130. 
"Step  softly;   where  your  foot  is 

was  a  flower,  169. 
Stiller  than  where  that  city  lies 

asleep,  165. 

Take  of  the  maiden's,  of  the  mo 
ther's  sigh,  223. 
Thanks  to  you,  sun  and  moon  and 

star,  6. 
That  I  might  borrow  your  voice, 

Fall  Wind,  140. 
The  beeches  brighten  for  young 

May,  114. 

The  bird  is  silent  overhead,  133. 
The  birds  have  hid,  the  winds  are 

low,  132. 

The    brook,  slow  northward  to 
ward  the  snows,  192. 
The  children  tucked  away,  226. 
The  circling  sea-birds  to  the  ledge 

have  flown,  102. 
The  dust,  unlifted,  lies  as  first  it 

lay,  122. 
The  fortress  proud,   the  haughty 

wall,  79. 
The  glories  falter  on  the  mountain 

crown,  189. 
The  hurt  hours  droop  and  hover, 

191. 
The  Isles  of  Quiet  lie  beyond  the 

years,  4. 
The  lips  are  pallid,  parched  with 

woes,  173. 


295 


INDEX   TO   THE    FIRST    LINES 


The  maples  look  down  with  bright 

eyes  in  their  leaves,  236. 
The  moon  is  up,  the  stars  are  out, 

147. 
The  poet  marvels,  while  he  sings, 

164. 
The  pussy-willow  and  the  hazel 

know,  187. 
The  reddest  rose,  the  bluest  violet, 

24. 
The  rhythmic  beating  of  his  tail, 

239- 

The  Shadow  came,  101. 
The  sky  is  lilac,  the  sky  is  rose, 

134- 
The  song  of  Nature  is  forever, 

222. 
The  sun  and  all  the  stars  shine  on 

thy  head,  12. 
The  swamp-tree  sighs,  and  the 

thin  sharp  reed,  191. 
The  things  the  sun  and  the  south 

wind  do,  in. 
The  way  to  learn  how  well  I  love 

you,  Dear,  25. 
The  weasel  thieves  in  silver  suit, 

The  wind  is  awake,  pretty  leaves, 

pretty  leaves,  197. 
The  winds  are  faint;   the  leaves, 

not  sure  they  blow,  186. 
The  winds  at  play  on  a  breezy  day, 

186. 

The  yellow  fox,  126. 
There  be  two  things  that  haunt 

my  dreams:  the  flower,  190. 
There  is,  they  say,  no  sweetes 

rose,  36. 
There's    revel    in    the    witherec 

close,  141. 
They  led  her  East,  they  led  he 

West,  103. 


Thine  hour  is  now;  ay,  though 
the  Hand,  170. 

Thus  run  the  hours:  blithe  calls 
at  break  of  day,  172. 

To-day  I  stretch  me  on  the  shad 
owed  grass,  13. 

To  wisdom  grief  is  sweet  as  mirth, 

'75- 

Toll  the  slow  bell,  52. 

T  was  Adam  at  the  gates  of  Para 
dise,  178. 

Twilight  down  the  west,  131. 

Two,  from  the  Heights  of  Quiet, 
167. 

Two  gifts  God  giveth,  and  He 
saith,  173. 

Upon  the  thousands  cast,  7. 
Voyager  on  golden  air,  121. 

War  met  him,  and  fell  pestilence, 

169. 

Was  never  thing,  157. 
We  happy  hearts  for  nothing  are, 

220. 
We  move  across  the  morning  lake, 

124. 
Weave,  bird  in  the  green,  green 

leaves,  113. 
Welcome    the    shadows;     where 

they  blackest  are,  174. 
What   shall  be   done  with  little 

Jane,  96. 
When  lilies  by  the  river  fill  with 

sun,  119. 
When   of  this   flurry  thou   shalt 

have  thy  fill,  174. 
When  other  birds  sing  not,  118. 
When  somebody  com»s  a-tripping 

down,  201. 


296 


INDEX   TO   THE    FIRST    LINES 


When  window-panes  are  smeared, 
148. 

Where  wild  flowers  were  and  rip 
pling  grass,  224. 

Wherever  a  green  blade  looks  up, 

!3- 

Who  brings  it,  now,  her  sweet  ac 
cord,  232. 

Who  drives  the  horses  of  the  sun, 
II. 

Who  listens  well  hears  Nature  on 
her  round,  185. 

"  Who's  killed,  to-day,"  234. 

Wide  awake,  now,  mind  your  eye, 
230. 

With  tears  and  kisses  let  me  go, 

39- 


Would  you  Love's  fairest  daugh 
ter  see,  165. 

Would  you  understand,  218. 

Wouldst  hear  strange  music  only 
the  dreamer  knows,  29. 

Wouldst  hear  the  singing  of  the 
spheres,  171. 

Wouldst  thou  the  kinglieet  head 
of  old  renown,  86. 

Yon  shape,  so  pitiful,  once  stood, 

11S- 

You'd  be  a  taller  thing,  73. 

You  must  have  known  her  had 

you  seen  her  face,  40. 
Young  day  has  flung  his  saffron 

banner  out,  144. 


297 


Electrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Hongkton  &*  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


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